v.^ 


Jil'llli   ilJJ.Mi  •'! 


:;i''ii' 


fM^' 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 


THE  COLLECTION  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINIANA 

ENDOWED  BY 

JOHN  SPRUNT  HILL 

CLASS  OF  1889 

C813 
P36a2 


IJ 


This  book  must  not 
be  token  from  the 
Library  building. 


THIS  TITLE  |HAS  BLEN  MIGhut-iLiViLD 


Form  No.  471 


THE  BLUE  RIDGE  SERIES 


AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 


So,  in  a  moment  more  I  felt  myself  —  I  who  had 
never  been  thrown  in  my  life  —  going  over  Paprika's 
head. 


AZALEA'S 
SILVER     WEB 


BY 

ELIA  W.  PEATTIE 

Author  of  Azalea ;  Annie  Laurie  and  Azalea ; 
Azalea  at  Sunset  Gap,  etc. 

Illustrations  hy 
E.   R.  Kirkhride 


The  Reilly  &  Britton  Co. 

Chicago 


Copyright,  1915 

by 

The    Reilly    &    Britton    Co. 


Azalea's   Silver   Web 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    Grown  Girls 9 

II    New  Relations 11 

III  Own  Folk 46 

IV  Madam  Grandmother      ...     64 
V    Mallowbanks 82 

VI    My  Ball 101 

VII    Getting  Settled 120 

VIII    The  Portrait 139 

IX  Grandmother's  Story  .     .     .     .158 

X  "  The  Waters  of  Quiet  "  .     .     .   177 

XI    A  Friend .   195 

XII    A  Travel  Log 212 

XIII  Crossroads 231 

XIV  "  Where  There  Is  a  Will  "  .     .  250 
XV  "Ring,  Happy  Bells"     ...  267 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

So,  in  a  moment  more  I  felt  myself  —  I 
who  had  never  been  thrown  in  my  life  — 
going  over  Paprika's  head Frontispiece 

We  stepped  back  in  the  shrubbery  and 
kept  very  still  while  they  passed. 
Grandmother  was  weeping  like  a  hurt 
child    84 

Azalea's  Coming  Out  Party 1 14 

It  was  Keefe  O'Connor  who  stood  there 
holding  out  his  hands  to  me 276 


AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

CHAPTER  I 

GROWN   GIRLS 

Tennyson  Mountain,  N.  C, 

October  6. 
Carin,  dear  and  far: 

So  you  are  back  at  your  beloved  Vassar! 
Does  it  seem  as  wonderful  as  it  did  last  year? 
Or  more  so?  More  so,  I  expect.  You  were  a 
little  lonely  and  strange  last  year,  you  know. 
But  now  it  will  be  different.  The  girls  will 
seem  like  old  friends  to  you  now  that  you  are 
coming  back  to  them.  But,  Carin,  girl,  they 
cannot  possibly  be  such  old  friends  as  I 
am,  or  as  Annie  Laurie  is.  Don't  dare  to  like 
one  of  them  better  than  you  like  us.  I  can 
imagine,  and  really  spend  too  much  time 
imagining,  just  how  lovely  and  cultivated  and 
surprising  some  of  them  are.  But,  please,  aren't 
some  of  them  quite  stupid,   too?     I   hope  so. 

9 


10  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

Annie  Laurie  hopes  so.  We  want  still  to  be  the 
brightest  stars  in  your  sky. 

Lest  you  should  think  we  are  not,  we  keep 
polishing  ourselves.  Annie  Laurie,  when  she 
is  not  attending  to  her  dairy,  will  take  university 
extension  work.  And  I,  your  own  ever  adoring, 
ever  grateful  Azalea,  will  keep  hammering 
away  at  the  books  that  dear  Barbara  Summers 
lends,  and  Keefe  O'Connor  sends  down  from 
New  York,  and  those  that  your  own  library  at 
the  Shoals  furnishes. 

I  have  the  heart  to  read,  Carin,  but  not  the 
time.  That's  the  truth.  Or,  come  to  think  of 
it,  perhaps  it  is  a  matter  of  eyelids.  I  have  a 
queer,  self-closing  pair.  If  they  would  stay  up 
after  nine  o'clock  at  night  I  could  learn  some- 
thing. But,  no,  they  appear  to  be  attached  to  a 
wheel  or  a  ratchet  in  the  clock,  and  when  nine 
strikes,  down  they  go  and  down  they  stay. 

What  can  I  do? 

Nothing,  except  kiss  dearest  Mother  McBir- 
ney  good  night,  trying  not  to  yawn  in  her  face 
as  I  do  it,  and  after  paying  my  respects  to 
Father  McBirney  and  "  brother  "  Jim,  slip  away 
up  to  my  darling  loft. 

Now,  there,  Carin!    You  see  I'm  nicer  than 


GROWN  GIRLS  11 

your  other  friends,  more  unusual  and  surpris- 
ing. (You  told  me  the  last  time  I  saw  you  that 
you  liked  your  friends  to  be  unusual  and  sur- 
prising.) Well,  have  you  any  other  friend  who 
goes  up  to  her  bedroom  by  means  of  an  outside 
pair  of  stairs  and  who  sleeps  in  a  loft,  with  a 
tame  bat  for  company?  You  have  not,  Carin 
Carson,  and  you  know  it.  And,  Oh,  how  I  love 
it!  Shall  I  ever  have  another  room  I  love  so 
well?  The  soft  noises  of  the  night  come  purling 
down  into  it  like  a  stream.  The  stars  of  the 
northern  sky  shine  into  it.  The  mountain-side 
is  like  a  green  curtain  hanging  before  it.  When 
I  get  up  in  that  little  room,  my  doors  and  win- 
dows wide  to  old  Mount  Tennyson's  whispering 
side,  I  seem  to  find  my  real  self.  Everything 
slips  away  from  me  except  the  night  and  myself 
and  —  and  God. 

Dearest  Carin,  I  am  feeling  rather  serious.  It 
is  because  of  something  that  I  have  just  come 
to  realize.  Do  you  remember  how,  at  the  end 
of  our  school-teaching  up  at  Sunset  Gap  three 
years  ago,  your  father  and  mother  ofifered  to 
send  me  away  to  school,  and  I  —  thanking  them 
more  than  I  could  possibly  make  them  under- 
stand—  refused?      I    said    I    wanted    it   to    be 


12  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

Azalea  for  herself.  That  I  meant  to  spin  my 
own  little  web,  and  that  I  hoped  it  would  be 
a  silver  one. 

Since  then,  as  you  know,  I  have  tried  my 
best.  I  decided  that  I  would  become  a  teacher 
of  the  mountain  handicrafts;  I  hoped  that  some 
day  when  good  Mrs.  Kitchell  resigned  her  posi- 
tion as  head  of  the  Mountain  Industries  which 
your  father  and  mother  established,  that  I  could 
take  her  place.  What  is  more,  I  wanted  to 
develop  the  Industries  so  that  they  would 
become  much,  much  more  useful  and  inspiring 
and  important  than  they  are  now.  I  wanted, 
too,  to  fit  myself  to  meet  all  the  people  who 
come  to  Lee  —  all  the  charming,  gracious  peo- 
ple. You  know  how  I  have  worked  for  all 
this.  Haystack  Thompson,  the  best  basket- 
maker  in  the  country,  has  taught  me  to  make 
baskets.  Mrs.  Kitchell,  the  cleverest  little 
weaver  of  all  the  weavers,  has  instructed  me 
in  the  weaving  of  woolen  and  linen  and  cotton 
cloth,  and  in  the  making  of  counterpanes, 
as  well  as  the  knotting  of  fringe  and  the  loop- 
ing of  fancy  edges.  Mother  McBirney  has 
taught  me  knitting  and  lace  making  and  cro- 
cheting.    I   can  do  a  little  wood  carving.     I 


GROWN  GIRLS  13 

can  make  mats.  I  can  weave  carpets.  Even,  if 
put  to  it,  I  can  turn  a  jug.  Then  I  have  read 
and  studied  and  thought.  And  in  doing  all 
that  I  have  grown  vain  and   foolish. 

I'll  tell  you  how  I  found  out. 

Dear  Father  McBirney  isn't  well.  I  think 
I  spoke  about  this  to  you  the  other  day.  But 
he's  been  getting  rapidly  worse,  and  now  he 
can  hardly  move  from  his  chair.  It  is  rheu- 
matism; and  it's  likely  to  stay  with  him  for  a 
long,  long  time.  He  cannot  help  about  the 
farm  at  all,  and  so  all  of  the  farm  work  falls 
on  Jim.  He  can't  even  go  about  the  country 
to  collect  the  chairs  the  mountaineers  make  for 
the  Mountain  Industries,  as  he  promised  your 
father  he  would. 

Oh,  Carin,  do  you  remember  the  day  you 
and  your  father  and  mother  came  up  to  our 
cabin  to  ask  my  foster-parents  to  go  down  and 
take  charge  of  the  Industries?  And  do  you 
remember  how  Pa  and  Ma  looked  about  at 
the  darling  cabin  with  its  wistaria  and  trumpet 
vine,  and  its  Pride  of  India  tree  with  the  graves 
of  their  little  Molly  and  my  own  dear  mama 
beneath  it,  and  how  they  would  not  go?  And 
then    do    you    recall    how    Father    McBirney 


14  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

promised  to  "  beat  up  trade "  for  the  Indus- 
tries, and  so  we  all  stayed  in  the  cabin  with 
its  nice  open  room  in  between  the  closed  ones, 
and  its  own  queer  little  smithy,  and  its  beehives 
on  the  south  slope,  and  its  martin  houses  by 
the  door?     Oh,  the  dear,  dear  little  house! 

Well,  there  has  been  such  a  demand  for  the 
mountain  chairs  from  the  visitors  to  Lee,  that 
the  chair-makers  have  been  making  a  good 
profit  and  Father  McBirney  has  been  enjoy- 
ing a  nice  commission.  This  winter  he  quite 
depended  on  it,  because,  owing  to  his  bad 
health,  he  hadn't  been  able  to  do  as  much  with 
the  farm  as  usual.  But  now  he  isn't  well 
enough  to  go  over  the  mountains  arranging 
about  the  chairs,  or  getting  them  together,  so 
even  that  little  profit  is  denied  us. 

What  are  we  to  do?  Jim  may  be  able  to 
do  some  hauling  for  people;  there's  wood  to 
be  carted,  and  some  work  to  do  for  the  miller, 
but   it's   very   irregular. 

And  this  is  where  I  come  in.  This  is 
where  I  am  shown  up  as  a  person  with  much 
vanity  and  little  common  sense.  For,  of  course, 
it  should  be  my  part  to  make  ready  money  for 
the  family.     And  I  can't.     I  don't  know  how. 


GROWN  GIRLS  15 

I  have  been  thinking  I  was  so  capable,  and  now 
I  see  I'm  just  as  useless  as  —  as  most  girls! 

Of  course  I  could  go  away  somewhere  else 
and  perhaps  find  some  other  place  where  the 
mountain  industries  are  being  developed.  But 
ought  I  to  leave  home  now?  I  seem  to  be 
very  much  needed.  As  you  know,  sometimes 
our  sweet,  unselfish  Mother  McBirney  gets 
melancholy.  She  has  lived  so  long  away  up 
here  on  the  mountain  that  her  thoughts  get 
to  turning  inward,  and  she  remembers  about 
Molly's  death,  and  then  for  days  she  is  silent 
and  brooding,  and  we  all  tremble  for  her.  She 
looks  far,  far  away  and  pays  almost  no  attention 
to  what  we  say  to  her.  This  is  a  very  real 
danger,  and  if  I  were  not  here  to  shake  her  out 
of  these  moods,  who  knows  what  might  happen? 

So  there  I  am,  I  who  wanted  to  do  such 
wonderful  independent  things,  I  who  thought 
I  had  learned  so  much,  about  as  useless  as  any- 
one could  be.  At  least,  as  a  money-earner. 
Of  course  I  am  not  sitting  about,  beating  my 
breast  and  throwing  dust  on  my  head.  I  hope 
you  don't  think  that.  No,  I  have  Mother 
McBirney's  loom  in  good  working  order,  and 
have  set  it  up  not  too  far  away  from  the  fire- 


16  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

place,  and  I  am  throwing  that  shuttle  like  mad, 
weaving  some  perfectly  fascinating  counter- 
panes. You  ought  to  see  the  one  in  red  and 
black  in  the  Tudor  rose  pattern.  Truly,  it's  a 
beauty.  I  know  I  can  sell  it  easily  enough,  and 
I'm  going  to  charge  a  good  price  for  it,  too. 
I'm  a  greedy  pig. 

But  you  see,  I  must  have  money. 

By  rights,  Father  McBirney  ought  to  have  a 
change.  He  should  go  down  to  Bethal  Springs. 
The  waters  there  are  said  to  cure  some  terrible 
cases  of  rheumatism.  But  he  couldn't  go  with- 
out Mother;  and  Mother  wouldn't  go  w^ithout 
Jim.     So  there  you  are.     Such  a  puzzle! 

Jim  is  dreadfully  on  my  mind,  too.  What 
do  you  think  has  happened  to  him?  He  has 
"  got  religion."  Yes,  I  know  you  are  laughing. 
Jim,  the  tease  of  the  world,  Jim  with  freckles 
and  warts  and  funny  words,  and  the  very 
dickens  in  him.  But  it  is  true.  Mr.  Summers 
did  it  —  talked  to  him  in  the  woods,  and  Jim 
''  saw  the  light."  And  now  he  wants  to  be  a 
preacher  like  Mr.  Summers.  You  ought  to 
hear  him  preaching  to  the  horses  when  he 
combs  them  down.  I  listen.  Perhaps  I  ought 
not  to.     I  don't  do  it  to  make  fun,  you  may 


GROWN  GIRLS  17 

be  sure.  I  do  it  because  the  poor  boy  is  so 
earnest  and  surprising.  You  can't  think  what 
beautiful  things  he  says.  Nights  he  studies  the 
Bible  and  some  books  Mr.  Summers  gives  him. 
He  drives  away  to  town  once  every  week  to 
help  with  the  Epworth  League  meeting,  and  he 
has  got  up  some  sort  of  a  society  among  the 
boys,  and  has  induced  the  members  to  pledge 
themselves  not  to  drink  whiskey  or  chew 
tobacco,  or  use  profane  words,  or  do  any  other 
horrid  thing. 

Our  Jim! 

Carin,  we're  all  growing  up,   aren't  we? 

You  with  your  long  dresses  and  touch-me- 
not  air,  and  Annie  Laurie,  one  of  our  leading 
business  persons!  And  Sam  Disbrow  buying 
stock  in  Annie  Laurie's  dairy,  and  Hi  Kitchell 
doing  draying,  and  Dick  Heller  going  in  the 
bank,  and  Keefe  O'Connor  sending  me  the  cat- 
alogue of  his  "  Autumn  Exhibit."  You  can 
fancy  how  Keefe  played  up  Sunset  Gap  in  his 
pictures!  I  could  tell  from  the  names  where 
he  had  painted  about  half  of  them.  I'll  send 
you  the  catalogue.  But  return  it,  won't  you? 
It  seems  like  a  memento  of  that  queer,  wild, 
happy  summer  at  the  Gap. 


18  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

That  was  the  last  summer  we  really  spent 
together.  To  be  sure  I  have  had  glimpses  of 
you,  but  usually  you  have  been  away  on  your 
wonderful  journeys  with  your  father  and 
mother,  and  I  have  had  to  go  about  the  moun- 
tain roads  alone.  But  I  haven't  minded,  Carin, 
and  you  mustn't  think  that  I  have.  I  tried  to 
picture  the  beautiful  places  you  were  in,  and 
the  parties  you  were  going  to,  and  the  pictures 
and  palaces  you  were  seeing,  and  I  knew  that 
if  I  was  thinking  of  you,  that  you  were  think- 
ing of  me,  too.  It  kept  my  heart  warm;  it 
peopled  the  lonely  mountain  roads. 

I'll  tell  you  this,  my  Carin:  Next  to  a 
well-loved  human  face,  a  well-loved  road  is 
the  best  thing.  The  sight  of  a  familiar  clump 
of  grass  can  be  as  dear  as  a  threshold.  Twists 
of  tree  trunks,  odd  embankments,  colors  of  the 
road,  above  all,  the  turns  of  a  road,  get  to  be 
like  a  part  of  one's  life.  The  little  smells  that 
come  up  from  earth  and  grass  and  flower,  rising 
over  and  over  again  from  the  same  place,  affect 
one  almost  like  the  voices  of  ^^  home  folk." 
Even  the  wind  on  the  face,  though  the  wind 
is  so  wild  and  strange  a  thing,  makes  one  feel 
at  ease  in  one's  world;   and   the  burst  of   the 


GROWN  GIRLS  19 

sun  over  a  hill,  or  the  going  down  of  it  at  the 
close  of  a  busy  day  —  busy  both  for  you  and 
the  sun  —  can  make  you  realize  as  few  things 
can,  that  you  are  the  child  of  God  —  of  the 
great  Father,  so  silent,  so  unknowable,  who  has 
made  suns  and  birds,  mountains  and  little 
friendly  crickets. 

Oh,  beautiful,  beautiful  life!  In  spite  of 
trouble  and  sickness,  perplexity  and  poverty, 
beautiful,  beautiful  life! 

Dear  Carin,  don't  laugh  at  me  if  my  letter 
has  been  a  bit  too  ecstatic.  You  are  surrounded 
all  the  time  with  fine  teachers  and  brilliant 
friends,  and  moving,  shifting  life.  I  am  just 
here  by  myself,  so  to  speak.  Yes,  yes,  dear,  I 
know  my  own  McBirneys  are  beside  me.  I 
have  no  desire  deeper  than  the  desire  to  help 
them.  Yet,  Carin,  are  they  my  kind  of  people? 
You  know  they  are  not;  they  know  it.  We  try 
to  be  alike,  but  we  cannot  be,  really. 

I  am  the  granddaughter  of  Colonel  Atherton 
on  one  side;  the  granddaughter  of  some  other 
proud  old  gentleman  on  the  other  side.  For 
it  was  pride  that  made  my  grandfather  Knox 
turn  his  son,  my  father,  adrift.  True,  the 
McBirneys  took  me,  a  little  ragged  wanderer. 


20  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

orphaned  and  desolate,  from  a  traveling  show; 
but  that  was  an  accident  in  my  life.  It  cannot 
change  the  fact  that  I  have  the  tastes  of  the 
Athertons  and  the  Knoxes,  who  have  loved 
beauty  and  hospitality  and  other  gracious 
things. 

Oh,  me,  am  I  insinuating  that  Mother 
McBirney  is  not  hospitable  or  that  she  does 
not  love  beauty?  If  so,  shame  on  me.  Her 
door  stands  open  to  every  wanderer.  It  stood 
open  to  me.  The  flowers  about  her  walls,  and 
the  purple  valley  below  her  hill,  delight  her. 
Yes,  she  is  a  true  lover  of  beauty.  May  we 
never  lose  sight  of  each  other,  and  to  the  last 
may  I  feel  her  hand  waiting  to  grasp  mine  in 
whatever  darkness  she  or  I  may  have  to  walk 
through.  I  only  say  I  wish  I  might,  sometimes, 
have  someone  like  you,  my  Carin,  to  talk  with. 
Of  course,  there  is  Barbara  Summers.  But  she 
is  in  the  valley  and  I  on  the  mountain. 

Equally  of  course,  there  are  Keefe  O'Con- 
nor's letters.  And  there  are  yours.  Be  sure 
you  send  me  one  soon. 

Do  not  mind  my  changing  moods.  I  am, 
after  all,  always  the  same  old 

Azalea 


GROWN  GIRLS  21 

P.   S.     This  is  the  evening  of  the  same  day. 

Who  do  you  think  called? 

Mrs.  Kitchell,  Hi's  little  brown  mother,  all 
in  new  clothes,  with  white  cotton  gloves  on 
her  hands  —  the  hands  that  used  to  be  so  hard 
and  scratched  and  battered  with  work.  She 
had  a  red  rose  on  her  new  fall  hat,  and  her 
shoes  were  blacked.  And  you  know  what 
shoes  are  at  Lee!  The  standard  is  low,  owing 
to  red  mud  and  lack  of  elbow  activity.  But 
Mrs.  Kitchell  was  grand.  There  is  no  other 
word  for  it. 

This,  however,  is  not  the  most  exciting  part 
of  what  I  have  to  tell.  Haystack  Thompson 
was  with  her,  and  he  actually  wore  a  hat.  Yes, 
he  did  too,  Carin  Carson.  What  is  more,  his 
hair  had  been  cut  —  a  little.  But  you  could 
get  seven  crops  a  year  of  his  hair,  just  as  you 
can  of  alfalfa.  He,  too,  was  wonderful.  He 
wore  a  collar.  It  was  of  celluloid,  and  it  shone 
like  Mother  McBirney's  best  milk  pan.  He 
did  not  bring  his  fiddle,  and  that  made  me  feel 
sad.  If  he  wants  to  court  Hi's  "  ma,"  why  let 
him,  but  is  that  any  reason  why  he  should  turn 
his  back  on  his  faithful  Betsy,  his  fiddle? 

I  felt  like  saying  to  him:    "  Haystack,  Hay- 


THE  BOOK  NOOK 

124  S.  W.  24 

OKLAHOMA  CITY,  OKLA. 


22  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

stack,  can  any  woman  understand  you,  answer 
you,  listen  to  you,  rejoice  with  you,  as  your 
fiddle  did?  Will  any  woman  cost  you  so  little? 
Ask  so  few  questions?  Be  such  a  companion 
on  rainy  and  sunshiny  days?" 

But  of  course  I  didn't  say  anything  of  the 
kind.  Little  Mrs.  Kitchell  is  a  brave  creature, 
and  Haystack  is  a  lonely  one.  So  if  they  decide 
to  marry,  I  and  everyone  else  ought  to  be  glad. 
The  only  thing  that  really  troubles  me  is  how 
they  are  going  to  live.  Dear  Haystack  never 
earns  any  money,  except  in  little  driblets, 
making  baskets  or  playing  at  dances.  Do  you 
suppose  that  after  that  little  beaver,  Mrs. 
Kitchell,  has  reared  a  family  of  four,  alone 
and  unaided,  that  she'll  turn  in  and  support 
Haystack  in  his  old  age?  Wouldn't  that  be 
odd  of  her?  Still,  perhaps  she  might  like  it. 
Hi,  as  I  say,  is  "  draying."  He  has  a  pair  of 
claybank  mules  and  he  is  a  proud  man,  I  can 
tell  you.  He  works  quite  as  hard  as  anybody 
in  Lee  —  harder  than  most.  But  he  doesn't 
like  to  be  "  driv."     You  know  he  wouldn't. 

"  When  will  that  trunk  be  up  to  the  house, 
expressman?  "  the  Northerners  say,  not  so  much 
as  looking  at  him. 


GROWN  GIRLS  23 

Then  you  ought  to  hear  Hi  drawl.  You 
know  his  drawl!     But  it's  grown  worse. 

"  Sometime  along  in  the  forenoon,  I  reckon, 
ma'am." 

"  Aren't  you  sure  of  it?  Because  if  you 
aren't,  I  shall  get  another  man  to  bring  it  up." 

"  Yessum.  Only  I'm  the  only  one  in  town 
jest  now  that  does  trunk  haulin'.  But  don't 
you  worry,  ma'am.  I  feel  tollable  sure  that 
there  trunk  will  git  up  to  you-all's  house  some 
time  before  evenin'." 

You  can  just  hear  the  Northerners  pant  when 
he  says  that. 

I  know  you  and  your  people  are  Northern- 
ers, Carin,  dear,  but  you're  not  the  snap-turtle 
variety. 

I  do  wish  you'd  been  down  here  this  sum- 
mer. I  had  so  much  to  tell  you.  The  Shoals 
looked  very  lonely  with  none  of  you  in  it. 
Was  it  so  lovely  up  there  in  Maine  that  you 
forgot  our  purple  mountains?  I  know  it  must 
be  beautiful  up  there.  I  look  at  the  map,  and 
follow  all  the  queer  little  inlets  and  outlets, 
and  think  how  bright  the  water  must  be  as  it 
breaks  on  the  rocks. 

Well,  we  have  had  wonderful  things  to  look 


24  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

at  ourselves.  Why,  only  to-day  the  mountains 
looked  like  gigantic  plums,  with  rich  purple 
bloom  all  over  them;  and  the  sky  went  to  the 
trouble  to  try  to  match  them.  But  I'd  have 
enjoyed  it  more  if  I  hadn't  been  so  poor.  Not 
that  I'm  any  poorer  than  usual,  but  I  feel 
poorer  because  I  see  that  at  last  it  is  "  up  to 
me "  to  be  the  money-maker.  And  I  don't 
know  how  to  begin. 

I  have  explained  to  you  distinctly  a  number 
of  times,  my  dear  Carin,  that  when  I  write 
this  way  I  do  it  to  ease  my  feelings.  I  want 
your  advice.  But  that  is  all  I  do  want  of  you, 
except,  of  course,  your  love  and  sympathy. 
I  know  you  ache  to  play  fairy  godmother. 
You've  tried  to  do  that  many  times.  But  I 
think  you  understand  pretty  well  by  now  that 
that  wouldn't  really  help  me  out.  I  want  my 
own  fight,  my  own  life,  my  own  victories.  Just 
at  present  I'm  terribly  puzzled,  because  I  want 
to  help  Father  and  Mother  McBirney  and  Jim. 

I  can't  write  it  all  to  Keefe,  because  —  well 
because  he  might  be  able  to  think  of  a  way  to 
help  me  out,  but  not  of  a  way  to  help  the  others. 
Keefe  is  terribly  impulsive,  and  he  will  not 
realize  how  young  he  is.     He  is  disgracefully 


GROWN  GIRLS  25 

young.  So  am  I.  That  extreme  youthfulness 
of  ours  gets  in  the  way  of  some  of  his  plans. 
No,  I  can't  write  him.  He  isn't  sensible.  Per- 
haps that  is  one  of  the  reasons  he  paints  so  well. 
Did  I  tell  you  he  was  making  rather  a  specialty 
of  portraits?  He  sent  me  one  of  a  young 
Jewish  girl  who  is  in  his  color  class  at  the 
Academy  of  Design.  He  says  her  name  is 
Miriam.     She  fits  the  name. 

Keefe  wants  to  come  down  here  this  winter, 
but  I'm  not  going  to  let  him.  There  is  no 
reason  why  he  should  come  to  this  one  place 
out  of  all  the  places  in  the  world.  Let  him 
go  up  to  Sunset  Gap  to  his  own  wonderful 
little  sister,  Mary  Cecily  Rowantree.  He  says 
he  needs  inspiration,  but  if  anyone  can  give  it 
to  him,  she  can.  You  see,  if  he  came  here,  he 
would  be  terribly  interrupting,  and  I  cannot 
and  will  not  be  interrupted.  I'm  going  to  earn 
the  living  for  the  family,  though,  as  I  said  at 
the  beginning,  I  don't  know  how. 

Carin,  I  go  out  and  sit  down  beside  my  dear 
little  mama's  grave  and  think  and  think.  I 
tell  her  how  good  these  people  were  to  her, 
how  good  they  have  been  to  me  ever  since  that 
terrible  day  when  I  was  left  alone,  and  I  beg 


26  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

her  if  she  is  indeed  a  spirit  now,  who  can  see 
and  understand  the  things  that  are  hidden  from 
us  earth-bound  ones,  that  she  will  put  some- 
thing into  my  heart  to  tell  me  what  to  do. 

I  am  ready,  Carin,  to  prove  myself.  Here 
I  am  with  my  strong  body,  with  my  heart  full 
to  bursting  with  gratitude  and  love,  with  my 
waiting  hands  and  brain.  But  I  need  direc- 
tion. You  couldn't  give  me  that,  could  you, 
dear  yellow-headed  one? 

Yes,  I  wish  you  might  have  come  home  this 
summer.  It  would  have  helped.  Barbara 
Summers  was  away,  too.  She  went  home  to 
see  her  people  for  the  first  time  since  she  was 
married.  You  remember  her  people  didn't 
approve  of  her  marriage.  She  had  a  very 
happy  time,  and  all  is  well  between  her  and 
them  at  last.  Of  Annie  Laurie  I  see  little.  She 
is  too  busy.  But  we  signal  each  other,  she  from 
her   roof,    I    from   the   "  Outlook." 

Good-bye,  dear.  If  I  write  you  too  much, 
forgive  me.  I  need  to  write.  It  comforts  me. 
You  understand  all  I  say  —  all  I  do  not  say, 
too. 

Lovingly,  always, 

Azalea 


CHAPTER  II 

NEW    RELATIONS 

"  Little  Windows,"  Mount  Hebron,  N.  C, 

October  20th. 
Dearest   Car  in: 

Yes,  the  letter  is  from  Azalea,  though  she  is 
in  a  place  that  neither  you  nor  she  ever  heard 
of  before. 

"  Little  Windows." 

Are  you  wondering  what  they  are,  or  what 
it  is? 

It  is  the  name  of  a  cottage  on  the  top  of 
Mount  Hebron.  You  have  seen  Hebron,  look- 
ing like  a  cloud,  from  the  top  of  our  own 
Mount  Tennyson. 

The  cottage  belongs  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  David 
Knox,  and,  Oh,  Carin,  they  — 

But  I  must  begin  at  the  beginning. 

In  my  last  letter  I  told  you  how  wretched 
Father  McBirney  was  feeling.  Well,  he  grew 
worse  and  worse,  till  at  last  he  did  not  know 

27 


28  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

a  moment  when  he  was  free  from  pain.  Jim 
and  I  tried  to  keep  things  going,  but  it  was 
hard.  We  began  to  grow  anxious  about  money 
and  the  bare  necessaries.     Then  I  said: 

"  I'm  going  out  to  see  about  the  mountain 
chairs.  I'm  going  to  ride  Paprika  over  the 
mountains  and  get  up  the  contracts  with  the 
chair-makers.  Then,  if  they'll  not  haul  them 
to   market,  Jim  must." 

Mother  objected.  So  did  Father.  I  reminded 
them  how  they  had  always  said  that  a  woman 
was  perfectly  safe  in  these  mountains.  But  it 
was  different,  it  seemed,  when  the  woman  was 
their  own  girl.  However,  I  overcame  their 
objections,  and  one  rainy  morning  I  set  forth 
on  my  pony  with  my  saddlebags  well  packed 
with  food  and  clothing,  and  with  carefully 
written  directions  from  Father  McBirney  in 
my  pocket. 

''  Stick  to  them  there  orders,"  said  Pa,  "  and 
you  can't  go  wrong,  Zalie.  Except,  maybe  at 
the  Trillers.  I  said  for  you  to  go  to  where  the 
branch  turns  by  the  two  black  gums,  but  it 
might  so  be  that  Triller  has  cut  down  them 
gums.  Seems  as  if  he  can't  take  no  rest  while 
there's  a  tree  standin'  around  his  place.     But 


NEW  RELATIONS  29 

anyhow,  if  you  follow  the  branch  after  it  takes 
a  bend  —  that  is  to  say,  after  you  have  taken 
the  right-hand  road  turning  ofJ  from  the  Ses- 
sion's pike  —  then  you  can't  a-miss  it." 

"  I  don't  mean  to  miss  it,"  I  declared. 
"  Don't  you  worry,  you  two." 

Jim  wasn't  at  home.  I  made  a  point  of  going 
while  he  was  down  at  Lee  with  some  timber. 
He  never  would  have  let  me  go  in  peace. 

I  was  not  at  all  afraid.  Indeed,  I  was  very 
happy.  I  grew  up  on  the  road,  as  you  remem- 
ber, Carin.  It  isn't  as  if  I  always  had  been 
house-bound.  The  woods  were  very  still  and 
lovely,  with  gray  veils  falling  in  among  the 
trees,  and  the  distance  all  hidden.  The  great 
tree  trunks  with  their  green  moss  and  their 
lichen  looked  beautiful.  I  had  been  feeling 
a  little  gray  in  my  mind,  and  the  day  just 
suited  me. 

By  noon,  though,  I  was  chilly  and  rather 
miserable,  though  my  raincoat  kept  me  dry 
enough.  But  I  was  longing  for  a  house,  as 
you  may  well  imagine,  and  just  then,  sure 
enough,  I  saw  a  tiny  cabin  in  a  clearing.  I 
slipped  ofif  Paprika,  and  knocked  at  the  door. 
No   one   answered.     A  smell  of   wood   smoke 


30  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

came  out  from  the  chimney  and  I  knew  there 
was  a  fire  inside,  and  I  did  want  awfully  to 
sit  by  it.  Really,  my  teeth  were  chattering. 
So  I  tried  the  door.  It  was  not  locked,  and 
I  went  in  and  crouched  before  the  fire  in  the 
great  blackened  fireplace.  It  was  very  homy, 
with  its  great  kettle  of  soup  hanging  over  the 
coals,  and  its  comfortable  mountain  chairs, 
thickly  padded  with  cushions  covered  with  but- 
ternut homespun.  There  were  braided  rugs 
on  the  floor,  and  in  the  darkest  corner,  one 
lofty  bedstead  with  posts  and  a  wonderful 
pieced  bedquilt.  I  wouldn't  go  so  far  as  to 
say  that  everything  was  outrageously  clean,  but 
on  the  other  hand,  it  was  not  disagreeably 
unclean  —  just  an  easy  medium.  Anyway,  the 
fire  was  a  blessing  and  the  soup  a  temptation. 

So  what  do  you   think   I   did? 

Yielded  to  temptation,  of  course.  I  dished 
myself  out  a  good  helping  of  the  soup,  took 
some  of  my  own  bread  from  my  lunch  box, 
and  ate  till  I  was  satisfied.  Meantime,  I  had 
got  as  warm  as  toast  and  felt  as  if  I  had  lived 
in  that  house  forever.  Then  I  took  a  little 
snapshot  picture  of  myself  from  my  notebook 
and  laid  it  on  the  table  with  some  loaf  sugar, 


NEW  RELATIONS  31 

some  coffee  and  a  fine  piece  of  Mother  McBir- 
ney's  honey  cake,  and  wrote: 

This  is  the  picture  of  the  girl  who  sat  by 
your  fire  and  ate  some  of  your  soup.  It  is  the 
first  time  she  ever  helped  herself  to  anything, 
but  she  enjoyed  it  so  much  that  she  means  to 
stop  again  the  next  time  she  is  passing  and  see 
if  there  is  some  more  of  that  delicious  soup 
and  to  ask  how  it  is  made.  Here  are  some 
little  presents,  which  please  accept. 

Azalea  McBirney 

Well,  this  is  just  an  incident,  and  I  only 
mention  it  to  show  you  what  a  happy  time  I 
had  at  the  beginning.  I  could  not  dream  how 
things  would   change  with   me. 

In  the  early  afternoon  I  visited  two  of  the 
houses  to  which  I  was  to  go,  and  arranged 
about  the  number  and  kinds  of  chairs  the  men 
were  to  furnish.  I  drew  up  contracts  for  them 
to  sign,  for  I  thought  that  would  be  business- 
like. Anyway,  it  pleased  me  to  do  it,  and  I 
think  the  chair-makers  liked  it  too.  It  gave 
both  of  us  a  nice  efficient  feeling.  They  wanted 
me  to  stay  at  the  last  house  I  visited,  and  there 
was  such  a  darling  little  baby  there  that  I 
almost  did,   but  I   decided   that   I'd  better  be 


32  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

getting  on  and  try  to  reach  the  Triller's  before 
sundown.  Paprika  was  getting  a  bit  fagged, 
but  I  know  how  quickly  she  rests  up,  so  I 
hurried  her  along,  getting,  I  confess,  just  a 
trifle  worried  as  I  found  myself  on  strange 
roads,  with  the  mist  settling  all  about  me. 

It  was  very  still.  The  mist  seemed  to  muffle 
everything.  No  birds  were  singing,  and  I 
could  not  hear  any  creature  in  the  woods,  nor 
any  falling  water,  and  as  there  was  no  wind, 
the  trees  were  motionless.  Everything  rested 
under  a  gray  enchantment,  and  it  gave  me  a 
very  strange  feeling.  Yet  I  liked  it.  I  felt  as 
if  something  were  going  to  happen. 

And  something  did.  But,  Carin,  it  was  not 
in  the  least  what  I  would  have  imagined  or 
wished  for.  It  was  as  different  as  it  could 
possibly  be. 

I  have  said  that  everything  was  very  still  — 
Oh,  perfectly  still.  Then  came  a  noise  from 
afar,  like  a  gathering  wind,  yet  not  a  leaf 
stirred  on  the  trees.  The  sound  grew  louder 
and  louder.  It  seemed  like  a  tempest.  I  trem- 
bled and  so  did  Paprika.  A  moment  later 
around  the  turn  of  the  gray  road  came  a  sort 
of   monster  —  an    awful    thing,    all    snout    and 


NEW  RELATIONS  33 

flaming  eyes.  I  knew  in  one  terrible  second 
what  it  was,  of  course. 

An  automobile  —  the  first  I  ever  had  seen, 
face  to  face  and  eye  to  eye.  Paprika,  who  had 
not  looked  at  pictures  to  any  great  extent  — 
except,  perhaps,  those  on  bill  boards  —  did  not 
know  at  all  what  it  was.  She  gave  one  wild 
scream  like  a  wounded  horse  and  dashed 
straight  up  the  bank.  Then  she  looked  back 
over  her  shoulder  as  if  doubting  her  senses, 
saw  the  horrible  thing  again,  heard  its  roaring 
and  snuffling,  and  plunged  on.  There  in  the 
thick  of  the  woods,  with  the  mist  still  gather- 
ing, I  could  not  see  how  to  guide  her,  and 
anyway,  she  was  beyond  management.  So,  in 
a  moment  more  I  felt  myself  —  I  who  never 
had  been  thrown  in  my  life  —  going  over  her 
head. 

And  that  was  all,  Carin  dear,  for  four  days, 
so  they  tell  me.     Four  days. 

You  will  wonder  where  I  was  when  I  opened 
my  eyes.  This  letter  paper  will  tell  you.  I 
was,  and  I  am,  at  "  Little  Windows,"  which 
is  the  name,  as  I  have  already  explained,  of 
a  cottage  on  the  top  of  Mount  Hebron.  Of 
course  I  can  not  say  for  sure  that  it  is  the  love- 


34  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

liest  place  in  the  world,  for  I  have  seen  but 
few  places,  not  being  like  you,  Carin,  darling, 
forever  going  to  beautiful  spots.  But  at  any 
rate  it  is  lovely  beyond  my  power  to  describe, 
with  its  great  valleys  and  gulches,  and  its  near 
acquaintance  with  stars  and  sun  risings  and 
moon  settings. 

When  first  I  opened  my  eyes  I  was  in  a 
quiet  bedroom.  The  walls  were  silver  gray, 
and  of  wood.  There  were  no  pictures.  The 
little  windows  were  without  curtains  and  looked 
right  out  at  the  wonderful  world.  It  was  sun- 
set and  from  where  I  lay  I  could  see  it,  crimson 
as  the  banners  of  a  king.  I  could  hear  a  fire 
leaping  and  rejoicing  in  some  room  beyond, 
and  voices  —  two  voices.  A  man  and  a  woman 
were  talking  together,  rather  anxiously,  I 
thought. 

"  They  are  talking  of  me,"  I  decided.  And 
then  I  began  to  remember. 

"  Is  my  neck  broken?  "  I  asked  myself.  And 
I  wriggled  it.    It  wriggled  in  the  good  old  way. 

"It's  my  back!"  I  decided.  So  I  tried  to 
sit  up.  I  was  pretty  dizzy,  but  my  back  worked 
perfectly.  I  tried  both  legs  and  both  arms. 
They  were  just  as  active  as  I  could  wish.     I 


NEW  RELATIONS  35 

poked  my  ribs.  They  appeared  to  be  in  their 
right  places.  And  then  I  grew  frightfully 
weary.  I  wanted  to  cry,  yet  I  felt  it  would 
be  too  much  of  an  effort.  It  seemed  as  if  I 
were  sinking  down,  down  through  gray  mist. 
Everything  floated  away  from  before  me,  and 
I  knew  nothing  more  for  a  time. 

Then  somebody  brought  in  a  light.  It  was 
not  a  very  large  or  a  very  bright  light,  but 
it  managed  to  reach  the  queer,  shadowy  place 
where  I  was  living,  and  to  make  me  open  my 
eyes. 

"  How  do  you  do,  ma'am?"  I  heard  myself 
saying. 

The  lady  who  carried  the  lamp  nearly 
dropped  it.  But  she  controlled  herself  and 
set  it  on  a  table.  Then  she  came  and  hung 
over  me  and  said  in  a  voice  that  trembled: 

"  I'm  very  well,  thank  you.    How  are  you?  " 

We  have  both  laughed  about  it  since  —  about 
our  speaking  to  each  other  in  that  queer  formal 
way.  But  we  had  to  make  some  sort  of  a  begin- 
ning, and  perhaps  that  was  as  good  as  any. 

"  I  am  all  right,  thank  you,  ma'am,"  I  said. 
''  I  tried  myself  all  over  a  while  ago,  and  there 
is  nothing  broken." 


36  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

"  No,"  said  the  lady,  "  there  is  nothing 
broken."  But  she  looked  at  me  doubtfully, 
and  with  a  queer  kind  of  curiosity. 

"  Do  you  remember  that  you  were  hurt? " 
she  asked.  "  That  you  were  thrown  from  your 
horse  and  hurt?  " 

I   nodded. 

"  My  pony?  "  I  asked.    "  Is  she  well?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  she's  all  right.  She  wasn't  hurt. 
But  you  were,  and  my  husband  —  it  was  his 
machine  that  frightened  your  pony  —  picked 
you  up  and  brought  you  here." 

"  Thank  you,"  I  said.  Then  I  began  to  wish 
she  would  go  away  and  leave  me  alone.  I 
wanted  to  go  back  into  that  queer,  gray,  silent 
place  of  mine  again,  where  sort  of  shadowy 
things  went  by  in  a  long  procession,  without 
one  of  them  stopping  to  bother  me  with  ques- 
tions. I  did  think  I  would  enjoy  looking  at  the 
lady  and  see  what  she  was  like,  but  I  was  too 
lazy  and  so  I  decided  I  would  do  that  another 
time.  Only  I  could  see  that  she  was  tall,  that 
her  hair  was  golden,  and  that  she  was  very 
thin.  That  seemed  enough  for  the  present;  so 
I  closed  my  eyes. 

Then  presently  I  felt  someone  putting  some- 


NEW  RELATIONS  37 

thing  between  my  lips.  It  was  soup.  And  that 
made  me  laugh.  I  thought  about  the  house 
where  I  had  helped  myself  to  the  soup.  I 
had  liked  it  better  than  this  —  it  had  had  more 
flavor. 

"What  are  you  laughing  about?"  asked  the 
lady. 

I  felt  terribly  silly.  I  remembered  some- 
thing from  "  Alice." 

"  Soup  of  the  evening,  beautiful  soup,"  I 
said.  Then  I  laughed  some  more.  I  couldn't 
quit.     Suddenly  I  heard  a  voice  roaring: 

"Stop  that!" 

So  I  stopped  and  looked  to  see  who  had 
spoken  to  me  that  way.  It  was  a  tall  man  — 
a  terribly  tall  man.  The  shadow  of  him  ran 
along  the  floor  for  yards  and  doubled  up  on 
the  ceiling. 

"  Who  are  you?  "  I  asked.   I  was  quite  angry. 

Then  he  bowed  —  and  you  ought  to  have 
seen  that  shadow  bow  at  the  same  time.  It 
was  the  funniest  thing,  and  it  nearly  set  me  off 
again,  but  I  crumpled  up  the  sheet  in  my  hands 
and  squeezed  it  as  hard  as  I  could  to  keep  from 
giggling. 

"  David   Knox,"  said   the  gentleman,   "  who 


38  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

was  unfortunate  enough  to  be  the  cause  of  all 
of  your   trouble." 

"  I  am  glad  to  meet  you,"  I  said  politely. 
His  bow  was  so  nice  I  forgave  him  for  yelling: 
"Stop   that!" 

''  Lorena,"  he  said  under  his  voice,  "  I  think 
everything  is  going  to  be  all  right." 

Now  you  wouldn't  think  that  remark  would 
make  me  laugh,  would  you?  Oh,  Carin,  I'm 
so  ashamed  of  it,  now  I  remember.  But  I 
began  to  sing: 

"  '  The  years  roll  slowly  by,  Lorena,'  "  and 
then  when  I  couldn't  think  of  the  next  line  I 
cried:  "Why  doesn't  somebody  tell  me  what 
comes  next?  " 

Well,  they  told  me  if  I  didn't  keep  still  they 
would  go  out  and  leave  me  alone.  I  didn't 
want  to  be  left  alone,  because  just  then  I  took 
a  sort  of  turn  and  was  afraid  to  sink  down 
into  that  gray,  still  place  where  I  had  been. 
So  I  said: 

"  Oh,  please  stay,  please  stay,  and  I  will  tell 
you  why  I  laughed  at  the  soup." 

So  before  they  could  stop  me  I  had  told  them 
about  it. 

"  Some  day,"  I  said,  "  I  am  going  back  and 


NEW  PvELATIONS  39 

call  on  that  woman.  I  will  give  her  some 
patterns  for  weaving,  and  maybe  she  will  have 
some  old,  old  ones  that  she  will  give  me." 

"Can  you  weave?"  asked  the  lady.  "You 
are  very  young  and  —  and  not  a  mountain  girl, 
are  you?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  a  mountain  girl,"  I  said,  remem- 
bering back  just  as  far  as  dear  Mother  McBir- 
ney  and  the  cabin  with  my  bedroom  in  the 
loft.  "  I'm  Azalea  McBirney  of  Tennyson 
Mountain,  and  I'm  —  I'm  a  weaver." 

"  Azalea,"  murmured  the  lady.  "  That  was 
the  name  of  poor  Jack's  wife,  wasn't  it?  I 
always  thought  it  a  sweet  name." 

Som.ething  shot  through  my  brain.  It  was 
like  a  stroke  of  lightning.  It  was  the  strangest 
thing  that  ever  happened  to  me.  In  a  second, 
by  some  power  I  can't  explain,  I  began  to 
know  things.  I  saw  them  as  if  they  were  a 
vision.  I  sat  right  up  in  bed,  and  pushed  my 
hair  back  from  my  face.  I  recollect  that  I 
kept  pushing  it  back  and  pushing  it  back,  as  if 
it  got  in  between  me  and  what  I  wanted  to 
understand. 

"What  Jack?     What  Jack?"   I   demanded. 

"  Jack  Knox,  my  dead  brother,"  said  the  man 


40  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

soothingly.  "  No  one  you  know  I  am  sure,  my 
dear.     Don't  excite  yourself,  please." 

"Jack  Knox!  Jack  Knox!"  I  said.  "That 
was  the  man  that  married  my  little  mama  and 
left  her  to  care  for  me  alone.  Jack  Knox!  No, 
I  don't  know  him.  I  don't  remember  him  at 
all.  And  I'm  glad  of  it.  Jack  Knox!  Jack 
Knox!" 

You  know  it  isn't  like  me,  Carin,  to  feel 
angry  at  anyone.  But  my  mind  seemed  to  have 
no  resistance.  Whatever  idea  got  into  it  insisted 
on  raging  around  in  it.  I  couldn't  stop  it.  I 
was  ashamed,  and  yet  I  couldn't  manage  myself. 

I  felt  the  lady,  Mrs.  Knox,  taking  hold  of 
me  with  those  long,  soft,  cool  hands  of  hers 
and  forcing  me  back  on  the  bed. 

"  Lie  still,"  she  begged.  "  Do  lie  still,  Miss 
Azalea.  You  mustn't  care  about  anything.  No 
one  shall  do  you  any  harm,  and  we'll  not  even 
let  troublesome  ideas  come  near  you  if  we  can 
help  it." 

"  Did  you  not  say,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  that 
your  name  was  McBirney?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  McBirney.  Don't  you  know  Ma 
and  Pa  McBirney?  Why,  everyone  knows 
them.     They  take  orphans  in.     At  least  they 


NEW  RELATIONS  41 

took  me  in.  They  would  have  taken  my  little 
mama  in,  only  she  was  dead,  so  they  put  her 
beneath  the  Pride  of  India  tree  beside  their 
own  Molly.  You  can  go  see  for  yourself.  You 
will  know  the  house  by  the  Pride  of  India 
tree  and  the  gourds  before  the  door.  The 
gourds  are  for  the  martins  —  dozens  and 
dozens  of  martins.  The  martins  will  show 
you  the  way  if  you  like.  Or  the  bees  —  thou- 
sands of  bees." 

"  Hush,  hush,"  whispered  the  lady.  "  David, 
go  and  take  the  light.  Hush,  Azalea,  hush. 
It  is  all  right.  Your  little  mama  would  want 
you  to  hush." 

She  began  singing  the  song  with  her  own 
name  in  it. 

"  The  years  roll  slowly  by,  Lorena." 

I  went  to  sleep.  But  this  time  it  was  dif- 
ferent. I  did  not  seem  to  be  sinking  into  that 
chilly  gray  place  where  the  visions  were.  I 
just  went  to  sleep  the  way  I  ought. 

The  next  morning  when  I  awoke  I  was  quite 
sensible  and  calm.  I  saw  the  world  as  it  was, 
and  remembered  all  my  life,  and  knew  that  I 
had  come  by  a  strange,  strange  chance,  among 
my  dead  father's  people.    David  Knox  was  his 


42  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

elder  brother,  arxd  Lorena  Knox,  with  her  yel- 
low hair  and  her  long  cool  hands,  was  David's 
wife.  It  made  me  deeply  satisfied  —  not 
exactly   happy,    but   deeply   satisfied. 

I  ate  the  breakfast  they  brought  me,  and 
after  a  while  I  was  taken  out  into  the  sitting 
room.  It  was  a  beautiful  room,  large  and 
square  and  quiet,  with  a  great  fireplace  of  gray 
stone,  and  more  little  uncurtained  windows 
looking  out  at  the  green  and  purple  world. 
So  then  I  sat  up  and  looked  at  these  people. 

"  I  have  never  before  seen  anyone  save  my 
little  poor  mama  who  belonged  to  me,"  I  said. 
"  It  is  very'  strange,  to  be  here  with  you." 

"  Do  you  like  it?  "  asked  Mrs.  Knox. 

"  I  am  a  little  afraid,"  I  said. 

"V/hy?" 

"  Because  I  want  you  to  like  me  and  I  am 
afraid  you  may  not." 

"Oh,  but  why?     We  already  do!" 

"  Do  you?    Oh,  I'm  glad.    Life  has  been  —  " 

"  How  has  it  been?  " 

"  Lonesome,  sometimes.  Interesting,  of 
course,  and  nice,  but  lonesome.  I  was  always 
taking  favors  from  other  people.  I  had  no  one 
of  my  own.     There  was  only  —  only  the  Pride 


NEW  RELATIONS  43 

of  India  tree  with  mama  under  it.  I  used  to 
go  out  and  talk  to  it,  but  —  " 

"  Hush,"  said  the  lady.  "  Do  not  weep. 
Azalea.  Save  all  your  strength  for  our  sakes. 
I  cannot  doubt  that  what  you  tell  me  is  true. 
I  want  you  to  see  something." 

She  brought  me  a  little  album  open  at  the 
face  of  a  young  man.  Carin,  darling,  when  I 
looked  at  it,  I  knew  it  was  the  face  of  my 
father.  It  was  like  my  own  face,  only  a  man's 
and  bolder.     And  yet,  so  like! 

"  My  father!  "  I  said.  "  I  never  saw  his  face 
before." 

''  It  is  wonderfully  like  your  own,"  said  Mr. 
Knox.  "  And  now  you  must  call  me  your 
Uncle  David,  Azalea;  and  you  must  call  my 
dear  wife  your  Aunt  Lorena.  Remember,  you 
must  never  feel  lonely  any  more." 

Then  I  suddenly  thought  of  Mother  McBir- 
ney  waiting  for  me,  and  watching  and  watch- 
ing the  road,  and  praying  and  wondering,  and 
I   cried  out: 

"Oh,  my  dear  Mother  McBirney!  I  can 
never  leave  her: — never!" 

"  But  someone  else  has  a  claim  on  you  now," 
said  my  Uncle  David.     Carin,  think  of  having 


44  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

a  right  really  to  write  that:  "My  Uncle 
David!" 

"  Yes,   I  know,  but  —  " 

"  I  do  not  mean  your  Aunt  Lorena  and 
myself,"  he  said.  "  I  mean  that  you  have  a 
grandmother  and  that  it  will  be  the  happiest 
hour  of  her  old  age  when  she  takes  the  daugh- 
ter of  her  favorite  son  in  her  arms." 

"Not  a  grandmother?  A  grandmother  of 
my  own? " 

"  Indeed  you  have,  and  a  very  wonderful 
and  proud  old  lady  she  is.  The  grief  of  her 
life  was  the  waywardness  of  her  son.  She 
cannot  realize  that  he  is  dead.  We  have  to 
watch  her  lest  she  steal  out  to  meet  him  in 
secret  as  she  did  in  the  old  days  when  his  father 
turned  him  from  home.  She  used  to  creep 
from  the  house  to  meet  him  and  to  take  him 
money,  for  she  lived  in  the  light  of  his  hand- 
some countenance.  So  it  is  your  duty,  Azalea, 
to  go  to  her." 

"  A  grandmother,"  I  said,  "  of  my  very 
own !  " 

It  seemed  wonderful  —  like  having  a  mother, 
only  more  majestic.  I  can't  explain  what  I 
felt. 


NEW  RELATIONS  45 

And  I  can't  write  any  more  just  now,  darling 
Carin.  My  aunt  has  kept  warning  me  that  I 
must  put  my  pen  down.  So  I  obey.  Another 
day  you   shall   know   the    rest. 

As  alicays, 

Azalea 


CHAPTER  III 

OWN    FOLK 

"  Little  Windows,"   Mount  Hebron, 

October  22nd. 
Car  in  dear:  * 

I  was  not  quite  so  well  after  writing  you. 
Aunt  Lorena  says  I  mustn't  write  so  much  at 
one  time  again  till  I  am  stronger.  This  is 
just  to  say  that  Mother  McBirney  has  been 
sent  for,  though  I  can't  see  how  she  is  to  leave 
home.  Who  will  look  after  the  men?  Oh, 
how  I  am  needed  in  that  little  house!  And 
here  I  lie  in  this  beautiful  room,  idle,  of  no 
use  to  anyone.  And  so  sleepy!  I  never  dreamed 
anyone  could  be  so  sleepy. 

When  I  dream  now,  it  is  all  about  my  grand- 
mother. To  think  of  an  own  grandmother! 
In  my  dreams  she  comes  creeping  softly  into 
the  room  and  strokes  my  hair.  I  do  not  believe 
a  word  they  say  about  her  being  proud.  I  am 
sure  she  is  gentle.  At  least,  her  dream-hand 
on  my  head  is  so. 

46 


OWN  FOLK  47 

I  am  writing  to  Mary  Cecily  Rowantree^  and 

she  can  send  the  letter  on  to  Keefe  O'Connor 

—  to  "  brother  "  as  she  always  calls  him.    Have 

you  noticed  that  she  almost  never  speaks  his 

name?    That  is,  I  suppose,  because  he  does  not 

bear  the  one  that  was  given  him  when  he  was 

christened.     What  a  strange  story  is  his! 

Good-bye,  yellow-haired  one, 

Azalea 
******** 

October  24th. 
Dear  old  Car  in: 

Mother  McBirney  has  come.  I  have  been 
alone  with  her.  Of  course  she  had  been  told 
everything  by  Uncle  David  on  the  way  over. 

"  Mother-heart,  mother-heart,"  I  said  to  her, 
''  tell  me  what  I  shall  do.  Here  we  are  alone, 
we  two,  and  no  one  is  listening.  Whatever  you 
decide  on  shall  be  done.  No  matter  what  any- 
one says,  WT  shall  do  it." 

"  Zalie,"  she  said  in  that  lovely  drawling 
voice  of  hers,  "  I  reckon  the  time  has  come  for 
me  and  you  to  go  our  separate  ways." 

"  Mother,  do  you  know  what  I  have  been 
told?  I  am  rich.  I  shall  have  money  to  spend. 
All   at  once,    in   one   lump,    right   now,    I    can 


48  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

have  the  money  that  would  have  been  mine  all 
during  the  years  since  my  father  died.  I  have 
asked  them,  and  they  say  that  though  I  am  not 
of  age,  I  may  do  what  I  please  with  that 
money.  So,  mother-heart,  you  and  Father 
McBirney  can  go  to  the  Springs,  and  Jim  can 
go  to  school.  You  can  rent  out  the  horses  and 
the  cattle  or  sell  them.  Perhaps  Annie  Laurie 
will  add  them  to  her  stock.  You  can  sell  the 
chickens  and  the  bees,  or  take  them  to  Annie 
Laurie's  too." 

"  Oh,  Zalie,"  cried  Ma,  "  how  can  you  go  on 
talking  about  chickens  and  bees?" 

"  Because,"  said  I,  "  sooner  or  later  that  is 
what  the  three  of  you  will  sit  up  late  at  night 
talking  about.  I'm  trying  to  arrange  it  so  that 
you  will  not  say  '  no.'  For  I  can't  stand  it  to 
have  Father  McBirney  suffering  the  way  he  is, 
and  you  going  sad  and  poor  and  Jim  not 
having  school.  I  knew  all  the  time  that  I 
couldn't  stand  it  —  that  I'd  have  to  do  some- 
thing about  it.  And  now  here,  along  comes 
Accident  —  whom  I  shall  make  my  goddess  — 
and  she  brings  me  among  my  own  folk,  and 
gives  me  a  fortune." 

"  And  parts  us,  Zalie." 


OWN  FOLK  49 

"No,  Mother  McBirney.  I  say  no!  You 
shall  go  to  the  Springs,  you  shall  see  Father 
get  well.  I  shall  visit  you  from  time  to  time. 
Then  you  will  go  back  to  your  own  home,  per- 
haps, and  some  day  I  shall  build  on  that 
lovely  spot  on  the  little  bench,  halfway  up  the 
mountain-side.  You  remember  that  place  with 
the  three  great  tulip  trees  and  the  spring  of 
cold  water?  I'll  build  me  a  little  house  there, 
and  all  the  mountain  people  and  all  the  valley 
people  shall  visit  me.  It  will  be  near 
you,  so  that  every  time  you  go  to  town  you 
will  be  obliged  to  stop  and  have  something  to 
eat  and  to  get  a  drink  at  my  spring.  You  shall 
not  lose  me,  no,  no,  no." 

I  gave  her  such  a  hug  that  she  gasped. 
Though  she  is  so  gentle  I  think  she  always 
rather  liked  my  fierce  ways. 

"  Will  you  be  living  in  that  house  alone, 
Zalie?"  she  asked  me,  looking  just  like  Jim 
when  he  teases.  And  though  there  wasn't  a 
thing  to  make  me  blush  —  not  one  thing — I 
got  to  blushing  and  couldn't  stop.  I  was  per- 
fectly furious  with  myself.  How  is  it  that 
sensible  people  are  sometimes  so  silly? 

"  Mother  McBirney,"  I  said  at  last,  "  is  it 


50  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

nice  of  you  to  peer  into  the  future  like  that? 
Don't  you  think  you  are  prying  and  —  and  —  " 

She  wouldn't  let  me  finish.  Anyway,  I  didn't 
know  how  to  finish. 

"  Don't  you  do  some  of  that  kind  of  prying 
yourself?"  she  asked. 

Would  you  have  thought  Ma  McBirney 
could  have  been  so  naughty? 

You  will  remember,  Carin,  that  when  your 
dear  father  and  mother  asked  me  to  live  with 
them  and  be  a  sister  to  you,  I  refused  because 
I  could  not  bring  myself  to  leave  Mother 
McBirney.  But  then  she  was  all  sore  and  suf- 
fering from  the  loss  of  her  Molly;  she  had 
done  the  one  wild  and  lawless  thing  of  her 
life  in  stealing  me  from  the  terrible  people  who 
claimed  me.  I  had  to  stay  with  her  then.  But 
now  I  am  a  young  woman.  I  must  make  my 
own  way,  and  I  must  help  the  McBirney 
family.  Moreover,  the  people  who  now  take 
me  are  my  kin.  In  going  with  them  I  do  my 
duty  to  my  own  family,  to  my  grandmother; 
I  can  make  amends  to  her  for  all  my  father 
made  her  suffer.  Do  you  not  see  how  different 
it  is? 

I  explained  it  all  to  Mother  McBirney.     She 


OWN  FOLK  51 

is  reconciled  —  very  quiet  and  rather  strange, 
but  reconciled.  She  will  get  happier  as  time 
goes  on.    Oh,  I  mean  to  make  her  very  happy. 

It  is  interesting  to  see  her  and  my  uncle  and 
aunt  together.  My  uncle  and  aunt  are  very 
grand  people,  Carin,  but  they  have  no  better 
manners  than  little  Ma  McBirney.  You  and 
I  always  said  she  had  the  nicest  manners  in  the 
world.  They  begin  and  end  with  kindness,  and 
gentleness  and  thoughtfulness,  and  with  it  all, 
she  is  so  self-respectful,  as  if  she  felt  it  her 
duty  to  cherish  her  own  soul  and  mind  and 
body  because  they  were  God's  gift  to  her. 

Did  I  tell  you  that  Mrs.  Babb,  the  moon- 
shiner's mother,  was  over  taking  care  of  Father 
McBirney  and  Jim?  That  fierce  mother  of 
wild  sons!  I  remember  describing  her  that 
way  to  myself  long  ago.  But  you  know  how 
kind  and  nice  she  can  be.  She  always  was  an 
obliging  neighbor,  and  so,  for  the  matter  of 
that,  were  her  sons.  You  have  heard  about 
the  time  her  son  set  Hi  Kitchell's  arm  and 
was  good  to  Jim.  That  was  when  I  was  kid- 
napped, and  the  whole  countryside  was  search- 
ing for  little  Azalea. 

The  funniest  thing  happened  to  Uncle  David 


52  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

and  Mother  McBirney  when  they  were  coming 
over  here  together.  Uncle  David  knew,  of 
course,  about  my  going  into  the  little  cabin 
and  warming  myself  before  the  fire  and  helping 
myself  to  soup,  so  he  was  watching  out  for 
the  place.  And  sure  enough  he  came  to  it, 
and  he  and  Mother  McBirney  went  in.  There 
were  two  women  there,  a  mother  and  daughter, 
and  both  were  very  nice  looking,  though  one, 
of  course,  was  no  longer  young.  They  seemed 
different  from  most  of  the  mountaineers;  not 
inclined  to  tell  much  about  themselves.  They 
showed  the  picture  of  me,  and  they  said  they 
had  enjoyed  the  things  I  left.  They  talked 
about  me  quite  a  little,  and  were  polite,  though 
cold  and  ofRsh.  Uncle  David  had  his  camera 
with  him,  and  he  wanted  to  take  pictures  of 
them  to  bring  to  me,  but  they  objected  to  that. 
Wasn't  that  queer  of  them?  Some  day  I  am 
going  to  call  on  them,  unless  indeed  I  leave 
this  part  of  the  country  forever  and  ever.  I 
suppose  I  may. 

Aunt  Lorena  doesn't  want  me  to  go  to  Mal- 
lovvbanks  —  that  is  the  name  of  the  old  Knox 
place  —  all  in  my  homespun.  She  wants  to 
dress   me  out  as  Queen   Guinevere  did   Enid. 


OWN  FOLK  53 

I  have  asked  her  to  wait,  but  she  is  not  very 
well  content  to  do  so. 

"  If  you  are  presented  to  your  grandmother 
in  homespun,"  she  says,  "  she  will  remember 
it  to  the  last  day  of  her  life.  Your  grand- 
mother is  very  old,  Azalea,  so  that  she  is 
inclined  to  pay  too  much  attention  to  little 
matters.  She  will  say  to  everyone  who  comes 
to  the  house:  'This  is  Azalea,  the  daughter 
of  my  dear  Jack.  She  came  to  me  in  home- 
spun, but  I  have  clothed  her  in  silk  —  as 
becomes  her.'  Oh,  it  is  so  easy  to  imagine  her 
saying  it.  Truly,  she  will  never  forget  the 
homespun  nor  let  you  forget  it.  What  is  worse, 
she  will  insist  on  dressing  you  herself,  and  she 
will  probably  do  it  out  of  the  cedar  chests  in 
the  lumber  room." 

"Out  of  the  cedar  chests?"  said  I. 

"  Yes,  the  famous,  terrible  cedar  chests. 
They  are  filled  with  loot  from  all  over  the 
world  —  old  shawls  and  crepes  and  brocades 
and  laces.  Never  was  there  such  an  expensive 
and  unusable  mess.  Ever  since  David  married 
me  she  has  wanted  me  to  make  over  these 
things  —  " 

"  And  very  lovely  you  would  look  in  them," 


54  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

broke   in  my   Uncle   David   in  gentle   rebuke. 

"  Lovely,  indeed,"  cried  Aunt  Lorena.  "  I 
would  look  like  a  romantic  scarecrow.  No, 
David,  the  ladies  who  wore  those  gowns  dressed 
in  the  fashion  of  their  day,  and  I  mean  to  dress 
in  the  fashion  of  mine.  I  warn  Azalea  right 
now  that  if  she  doesn't  let  me  send  to  Charles- 
ton for  fit  and  proper  clothing  for  her,  she'll 
be  wearing  those  stiff  old  things  to  the  day  of 
her  —  marriage." 

"  Oh,  I'd  be  certain  to  have  my  wedding 
dress  made  out  of  the  chests,  I  should  think," 
I  said,  perfectly  delighted  with  the  idea. 
"  Hasn't  grandmother  saved  her  wedding 
dress?" 

"  Of  course  she  has,  and  her  wedding  che- 
mise and  slippers  and  veil  and  fan." 

"  Oh,"  I  cried,  "  just  let  me  lie  still  and  think 
about  it  awhile.     Isn't  it  like  a  fairy  tale?" 

So  I  did.  I  lay  still  quite  a  while  looking 
at  the  fire,  and  wondering  if  it  could  be  true 
that  I,  Azalea  Knox,  who  had  believed  myself 
to  be  little  more  than  a  waif,  was  coming  into 
a  home  all  mellow  and  beautiful  with  old  cus- 
toms and  memories  and  loves  —  and  hates,  too, 
I  suppose.     Then  I  seemed  to  feel  that  some- 


OWN  FOLK  55 

thing  was  wrong,  and  looking  up  I  saw  my 
new  Uncle  David  frowning  at  me  —  distinctly 
frowning. 

So  I  said: 

"Why  do  you  frown,  Uncle  David?" 

And  he  said: 

"  Why  are  you  so  interested  in  bridal 
dresses?  " 

"  Aren't  all  girls  interested  in  bridal 
dresses?  " 

"  Not  when  they  are  infants  like  yourself, 
miss." 

"  I  am  eighteen  and  over,"  I  said.  "  If  you 
don't  have  daydreams  Vvhen  you  are  eighteen, 
when  will  you  have  them?" 

"  True  for  you.  Azalea,"  cried  my  aunt  with 
her  high  laugh.  "  Pay  no  attention  to  him. 
I  was  just  turned  seventeen  when  we  became 
engaged." 

"  The  circumstances  were  peculiar,"  said  my 
uncle,   rather  red  in  the  face. 

"  They  were,"  said  my  aunt.  "  You  wanted 
me,  and  you  were  afraid  I  might  —  want  some- 
one else." 

"  But  we  waited,"  said  my  uncle,  "  a  long, 
long  time." 


56  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

"  Two  years  and  three  months,"  said  my 
aunt. 

"  Few,  however,  would  be  justified  in  marry- 
ing so  young,"  said  my  uncle.  "  But  we  were 
peculiarly  suited  to  each  other.  Both  families 
approved.  You,  my  dear  Azalea,  have  not 
been  so  situated  as  to  see  much  of  people  in 
your  own  station  of  life,  so  it  will  probably 
be  many  years  before  you  will  have  any  occa- 
sion to  ask  my  mother  for  her  old  white  satin 
wedding  gown." 

I  said  nothing  at  all  but  just  smiled  at  the 
fire.  I  could  feel  Uncle  David  still  watching 
me.     At  last  he  said : 

"  Why  are  you  smiling?  " 

"  I   am  happy." 

"  Are  you  still  thinking  of  the  wedding 
gown?  " 

"  Only  vaguely." 

"Azalea,  have  you  any  secret  to  tell  us?" 

"  None." 

"  Could  Mrs.  McBirney  throw  any  light  on 
that  peculiar  smile  of  yours?" 

"  Ask  her." 

But  would  dear  old  Ma  go  back  on  me? 
You  know  she  would  not. 


OWN  FOLK  57 

"  Zalie  is  like  my  Jim,"  she  drawled,  "  a 
good  deal  of  a  tease." 

I  threw  her  a  kiss.  And  Uncle  David  shook 
his  fist  at  me. 

Ah,  Carin,  why  are  you  not  here?  Why  can 
we  not  slip  in  bed  side  by  side  each  night  as 
we  used  up  at  Sunset  Gap?  I  have  so  many 
things  to  tell  you,  and  I  cannot  begin  to  make 
them  clear  merely  writing  them  like  this. 
Though  I  find  I  like  to  write.  I  have  been 
reading  and  reading  for  years  and  thinking 
how  hard  it  must  be  to  write,  and  now,  for  the 
first  time,  I  am  really  trying  my  hand  at  it, 
and  I  find  it  about  as  easy  as  breathing.  Of 
course,  writing  to  you,  who  understand  me  and 
my  ways  so  well,  makes  it  particularly  easy. 
I  do  not  say  that  I  would  dare  to  write  for 
strangers  or  that  I  would  like  to  do  it.  And 
yet,  I  wonder,  Carin,  if  one  were  to  write  a 
book  just  as  if  one  were  talking  to  a  friend, 
showing  all  one's  heart  and  counting  on  the 
readers  to  understand  and  sympathize,  if  it 
would  not  be  a  good  book. 

A  book  has  to  be  human  to  be  good,  doesn't 
it?  And  writing  that  way,  frankly,  even  lov- 
ingly, I  may  say,  letting  people  feci  that  you 


58  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

who  are  writing  are  really  a  friend,  although 
unknown,  would  make  a  book  human,  wouldn't 
it? 

I  suppose  there  are  a  great  many  lonely  folk 
in  the  world  who  have  not  had  the  good  fortune 
to  make  friends,  or  even  to  find  their  own  home, 
in  any  true  and  deep  sense  of  the  word,  and 
that  to  such,  a  friendly  book  is  a  great  boon. 
It  is  something  to  take  down  off  the  shelf  at 
night  in  the  quiet  hours,  and  to  read  over  and 
over  again.  It  helps  them  to  forget  their 
troubles  and  even  themselves,  and  they  go  to 
bed  comforted  and  warmed  at  the  heart, 
remembering  that  the  old  world  is  a  pretty 
kind   and  genial   place  after  all. 

If  I  could  write,  it  is  such  a  book  as  that 
which  I  would  choose  to  make.  And  do  you 
know,  the  last  few  days  as  I  have  been  lying 
here  thinking  and  thinking,  I've  wondered  if 
I  might  not  write  a  little.  It  would  do  such 
pleasant  things  to  my  life.  It  would  be  like 
planting  little  gardens  of  flowers  all  about  me. 
Haven't  we  a  right  to  plant  flowers  if  we  have 
a  taste  for  them?  Planting  flowers  and  writing, 
like  everything  else  that  one  does,  is  largely 
a  matter  of  habit,  don't  you  think  so? 


OWN  FOLK  59 

To-morrow  Mother  McBirney  is  going 
home.  Uncle  David  is  going  to  take  her.  She 
is  to  close  up  the  house,  send  Jim  to  school,  and 
betake  herself  and  Father  McBirney  to  Bethal 
Springs  for  the  winter.  Uncle  David  has 
written  dovvn  to  engage  a  cosy  little  furnished 
cottage  for  them.  He  has  given  me  a  check 
for  them.     I  am  very  happy,  Carin. 

I  told  you  I  was  going  to  make  Accident  my 
goddess.  I  like  Accident.  Just  turning  around 
the  corner  may  bring  one  face  to  face  with  — 
with  something  glorious.  I  feel  all  the  time 
now  as  if  something  delightful  and  surprising 
were  going  to  happen. 

Lovingly, 

Your  Azalea 

******** 

"  Little  Windows,"  Oct.  29. 
Carin,  we  are  off.  The  "  little  windows  " 
are  all  boarded  up.  The  servants  have  been 
driven  to  the  station.  Outside  the  door  the 
touring  car  is  standing,  silent  but  eager.  I 
swear  it  looks  eager,  and  that  I  am  horribly 
afraid  of  it.  I  expect  to  have  a  chill.  My 
teeth  chatter  at  this  moment  at  the  thought  of 


60  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

riding  in  that  long,  raging,  rushing  thing 
around  these  winding  mountain  roads.  I  feel 
as  if  this  might  be  the  last  letter  I  shall  ever 
write  to  you.  I  said  I  loved  Accident,  but 
that  depends  on  how  she  looks.  To-day  I  do 
not  like  the  looks  of  her.  I  cut  her  acquaint- 
ance. If  you  never  hear  from  me  again,  remem- 
ber how  I  loved  you. 

Aunt  Lorena  and  Uncle  David  are  putting 
the  last  touches  to  things,  and  I  am  sitting  on 
the  porch  scribbling  in  my  notebook.  From 
here  we  can  see  thirty  peaks  and  many  valleys 
and  rivers.  The  rivers  are  silver  threads  in 
the  purple  distance,  winding  and  winding. 
There  is  an  eagle  just  above  the  house,  prob- 
ably come  to  see  that  we  get  safely  away.  I 
wish  he  would  teach  me  how  to  fly  so  that  I 
wouldn't  have  to  ride  in  that  terrible  machine. 

The  only  thing  that  cheers  me  up  is  the 
thought  that  I  am  really  going  home.  After 
so  many  homeless  years,  or  years  in  which  I 
had  a  home  only  by  the  kindness  of  others,  I 
am  going  to  my  own  home,  to  my  own  grand- 
mother, blood  of  my  blood,  the  mother  of  my 
father. 

Do  you  suppose  those  who  love  us  and  are 


OWN  FOLK  61 

dead,  know  what  is  happening  to  us?  Is  my 
own  little  mother  seeing  me  this  day?  Is  she 
glad  I  am  going  to  the  home  which  never 
opened  its  doors  to  her?  Am  I  loyal  to  her  in 
going?  These  questions  are  too  hard  for  me 
to  answer.  I  only  know  that  my  uncle  and 
aunt  would  be  shocked  and  deeply  offended  if 
I  did  not  go  with  them,  and  I  remember  that 
to  the  last  my  mother  loved  my  father. 

When  she  lay  dead  that  day  in  dear  Mother 
McBirney's  house,  they  found  in  the  leather 
pocket  book  she  carried,  a  little  piece  of  dark 
hair  which  must  have  been  his,  with  her  "  wed- 
ding lines,"  as  Mother  McBirney  called  them, 
and  a  little  blurred  picture  which  was,  no 
doubt,  of  him.  But  her  tears  or  the  rain  had 
dimmed  it  so  we  could  barely  see  it. 

Your  letter  was  brought  me  last  night,  Carin, 
and  was  the  greatest  sort  of  a  comfort.  Oh,  I 
knew  you  would  understand. 

Aren't  you  taking  too  many  studies?  You 
mustn't  wear  yourself  out.  Never  forget  that 
you  are  going  to  be  an  artist  and  that  you  have 
to  consider  your  talent  above  everything  else. 
So  be  careful  not  to  use  yourself  up  on  mathe- 
matics and  physics   and   all   those  things. 


62  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

I  am  glad  you  are  having  some  good  times. 
That  young   man   who   sent  you   flowers    is    a 
Southerner,   is  he?     From  Charleston?     Why 
didn't  you  tell  me  his  name?     Perhaps  I  shall 
be  meeting  him.     For  I  am  to  meet  people.     I 
mean,    I    am   to   meet   them   the   way  you   do. 
Aunt  Lorena  will  give  a  "  coming  out  "  party 
for  me.     It  rather  amuses  me.     Poor  Azalea, 
with  her  boots  covered  with  red  mud  and  her 
hands  scratched  with  briars  and  burned  with 
cooking  and  pricked  with  sewing,  and  her  hair 
tumbled    every   which   way,    Azalea   who   can 
whistle  through  her  fingers  as  well  as  Jim  or 
Hi  or  any  of  the  boys,  who  can  climb  a  fence 
in  a  jifify  and  shin  up  a  tree  if  necessary,   to 
stand  all  perfumed  and  proper,  in  a  wonderful 
old     drawing-room,     saying:      "Thank     you, 
madam,  you  are  very  good  to  say  so."   "  Thank 
you,  sir,   indeed   I   am  very  much  honored  to 
meet  my  grandmother's  old  friends."     Can  you 
hear  me?     I  wish  you  could  in  reality.     Per- 
haps I  can  get  my  aunt  to  put  off  the  party  till 
Thanksgiving.      If   so,    could   you   dash   down 
to  Mallowbanks?     It  is  not  far  from  Charles- 
ton.    You  could   take  a  few  extra  days   from 
college,  couldn't  you? 


OWN  FOLK  63 

The  very  thought  of  it  puts  new  courage  into 
me.  You  will  find  my  new  address  within. 
Write  me  at  once.  I  shall  insist  that  Annie 
Laurie  come  to  my  party  also.  What  a  reunion 
that  would  be!  To  have  the  old  friends  and  the 
new  together  would  be  something  to  remember 
always. 

Maybe  the  young-man-who-sent-the-roses  will 
be  home  for  Thanksgiving.  Then  he  could 
come  too,  and  I  would  see  if  he  was  nice 
enough  to  —  to  be  allowed  to  send  you  roses. 

Do  you  suppose  Keefe  could  come?  But  he 
wouldn't,  would  he?  At  least,  not  unless  I 
got  an  order  for  him  to  paint  a  portrait.  And 
how  could  I  do  that?  But  maybe  1  can  insist 
that  he  shall  paint  a  portrait  of  my  grand- 
mother for  me.     My  own  grandmother! 

There,  Uncle  David  is  cranking  that  terrible 
machine.  I  must  go.  Carin,  we  who  go  to 
die  salute  thee! 

I  will  you  my  amber  beads. 
Tremblingly, 

Azalea 


CHAPTER  IV 

MADAM    GRANDMOTHER 

Mallowbanks,  Brent  County,  S.  C, 

November  first. 
Poor  neglected  Carin: 

I  know  it,  Carin.  I  know  I  have  treated  you 
badly.  I  know  that  you  have  been  expecting 
and  wondering  and  scolding  because  I  have 
not  written. 

But  when  you  say  that  I  have  forgotten  you 
because  of  my  new  friends,  well  —  I  haven't 
any  answer  to  that.  Nothing  pleasant  ever 
happens  to  me  that  I  do  not  wish  you  were 
with  me  to  share  it,  and  nothing  bad  ever 
happens  that  I  do  not  think  in  the  midst  of  all 
my  trouble: 

"  I  will  make  a  story  out  of  that  to  tell  to 
Carin  and  —  well,  Annie  Laurie  or  any  other 
person  whom  I  love." 

But  you  first,  Carin. 

As  you  may  have  guessed,  we  got  here  alive. 

64 


MADAM  GRANDMOTHER         65 

I  was  really  very  much  surprised.  Between 
shivers  and  shudders  I  enjoyed  the  ride  tre- 
mendously. We  had  two  days  and  a  half  of  it, 
sleeping  at  night  in  inns  where  my  uncle  and 
aunt  were  welcomed  very  warmly,  and  where 
everybody  marveled  over  me  very  much  as  they 
did  in  the  old  days  when  Mother  McBirney 
first  took  me  over  and  carried  me  with  her 
everywhere  to  exhibit  me  so  lovingly  and 
triumphantly. 

Only  this  time  there  were  differences;  very 
great  differences.  I  soon  realized  that  to  be 
the  daughter  of  the  house  of  Knox  was  no  small 
matter,  and  though  I  had  insisted  on  keeping  to 
my  homespun,  and  still  do  think  it  very  nice, 
I  was  a  trifle  worried  about  it.  But  my  riding 
suit  is  well  cut,  and  it  fits  like  a  dream,  and 
the  homespun  is  almost  as  soft  as  camel's  hair, 
and  the  color  of  it,  a  bottle  green,  becomes 
me  very  well.  I  was  wearing  the  little  dark 
green  Alpine  hat  you  brought  me  from  Switzer- 
land, and  that  was  becoming  too. 

Yet,  girl-o'-my-heart,  I  felt  frightened  and 
insignificant  enough  when,  having  passed  by 
way  of  many  charming  old  towns  and  wide 
plantations,  we  came  at  last  to  the  long,  shady 


66  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

road  which  they  told  me  belonged  to  the  Knox 
estate.  The  part  we  passed  through  was  all  in 
fine  old  trees,  not  so  near  together  but  that  the 
sun  could  make  bright  carpets  in  between  them. 
Here  and  there,  where  the  ground  lifted,  we 
could  see  the  plantations,  now  of  course  in  their 
autumn  bareness,  stretching  in  three  directions. 

I  have  always  loved  to  read  about  princes 
and  princesses  who  have  wandered,  poor  and 
forlorn,  in  strange  lands,  and  who  finally  return 
to  their  royal  homes  and  live  happy  ever  after 
amid  a  loving  people.  I  think  that  is  the  nicest 
sort  of  a  story  in  the  world,  and  I  often  have 
played,  when  it  was  cold  and  windy  in  my  little 
loft  on  Tennyson  Mountain,  and  when  Jim 
teased  me,  and  all  the  family  was  looking  at 
something  in  a  different  way  from  what  I  was 
able  to  do,  that  I  was  a  lost  princess  and  that 
by  and  by  I  would  come  into  my  own. 

But  I  never  really  thought  it  anything  but 
a  silly,  silly  dream.  I  played  with  it  as  I  used, 
a  few  years  before,  to  play  with  paper  dolls. 

Yet  here  I  was,  Carin,  being  swept  up 
to  the  door  of  my  ancestral  mansion.  We 
turned  a  bend  in  the  road,  and  then  saw  the 
house  across  a  stretch  of  lawn.    It  was  all  drip- 


MADAM  GRANDMOTHER         67 

ping  with  Virginia  creeper;  the  leaves  hung 
red  as  flame  from  the  hooded  windows,  and 
bannerets  of  the  scarlet  vine  fluttered  from  the 
wide  door.  Did  uncle  tell  me  the  house  was 
Georgian  in  its  style?  I  do  not  remember.  At 
any  rate,  it  is  of  old-rose  brick  and  tile,  as 
mellow  as  a  soft  sunset.  There  are  six  hooded 
windows  and  the  beautiful  door  down  below, 
and  seven  window^s  above;  then  at  each  end  of 
the  main  part  of  the  building  is  an  L,  running 
obliquely  out  into  the  lawn,  and  here,  too,  are 
the  hooded  windows  above,  but  below  are  gal- 
leries, and  they  are  roofed  in  some  places  and 
uncovered  in  others,  so  that  you  can  stay 
under  cover  if  you  like,  or  right  out  under  the 
stars. 

I  found  myself  clasping  my  hands  tight  over 
my  heart  as  I  looked. 

"  Do  you  like  it,  dear?"  asked  Aunt  Lorena 
gently. 

I  seized  her  hand. 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Lorena,  did  you  come  here  a 
bride?  Did  Uncle  David  bring  you  here? 
Had  you  ever  seen  it  before?" 

"  I  had  known  it  ever  since  I  was  a  child, 
but  notwithstanding  that,  the  day  I  entered  it 


68  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

and  knew  it  for  my  own  to  live  in  was  one  of 
the  happiest  of  my  life." 

"  All  on  account  of  the  house,  I  suppose," 
growled  Uncle  David  from  the  front  seat  of 
the  car.  Aunt  Lorena  laughed  like  a  bird  and 
said  nothing. 

"  Oh,  the  years  must  have  rolled  sweetly  by, 
Lorena,"  said  I  under  my  breath. 

She  smiled  at  me  beautifully,  and  then  we 
got  out  of  the  car,  and  there  were  people 
running  from  out  of  the  house  and  from  around 
the  house  to  help  us  —  kind,  affectionate,  cap- 
able black  people,  happy  and  well  placed. 

They  all  looked  at  me,  open-eyed,  like 
children,  and  they  bowed  and  smiled,  but  all 
the  time  I  could  see  they  were  wondering. 
Then  Uncle  David  took  me  by  the  hand  and 
led  me  up  the  steps  and  turned  with  me  and 
said: 

"  This  is  Miss  Azalea  Knox,  the  daughter  of 
my  brother  John.  She  has  come  here  to  be  the 
daughter  of  the  house  and  your  young  mistress." 

In  the  old  days  —  or  at  least  in  story  books  — 
my  "  faithful  retainers  "  would  have  cheered. 
These  did  not  cheer,  but  there  were  murmurs 
of  interest  and  pleasure,  and  then  they  began 


MADAM  GRANDMOTHER         69 

coming  up  to  wish  me  happiness  with  the  sweet- 
est manners  imaginable.  So  I  shook  hands  with 
them  all,  and  liked  them,  and  felt  I  would 
enjoy  doing  things  for  them  and  that  I  could 
ask  them  to  do  things  for  me.  All  the  while, 
inside,  deep  down,  there  was  a  curious  chuck- 
ling going  on  in  me.  I  couldn't  help  having 
that  laugh  with  myself. 

"  So  the  poor  homespun  princess  really  has 
come  to  her  ancestral  halls,"  I  kept  thinking. 
I  wondered  that  it  didn't  strike  Uncle  David 
and  Aunt  Lorena  and  that  they  didn't  laugh. 
But  no,  Carin,  they  were  quite  serious  and 
grand,  and  I  soon  saw  how  well  their  stately 
ways  went  with  that  beautiful  place. 

I  mustn't  take  time  to  describe  all  the  place 
to  you,  must  I?  But  I  cannot  pass  on  without 
telling  you  my  first  impression  of  the  great  hall 
by  which  we  entered.  There  was  a  high  panel- 
ing in  carved  wood,  and  a  sweeping  staircase, 
with  carved  panels,  and  a  fireplace,  all  beauti- 
fully carved  too.  The  dark,  shining  floor  was 
covered  with  strips  of  gray  carpeting,  and  at 
the  doors  and  the  great  window  of  leaded  glass 
on  the  landing  were  silvery  curtains  with  bands 
of  white  and  black.    Then  there  was  the  clock 


70  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

of  teakwood,  and  a  lovely  statue  of  a  Diana  in 
pinky-white  marble,  so  delicate  the  light  came 
through  her  arm. 

An  unusual  room,  you  must  admit  that.  To 
the  returning  princess,  who  has  seen  no 
grandeur  save  that  to  be  found  in  your  beautiful 
home,  Carin,  it  was  rather  —  well,  rather  over- 
powering. 

Mother  McBirney  had  sent  my  clothes  to 
me,  of  course,  and  now  my  little  bag  was  taken 
up  to  my  room,  and  I  was  told  to  follow  Mary 
Greenville  Female  Seminary  Simms  —  Semmy 
for  short  —  the  old  benevolent-faced  colored 
woman. 

We  went  up  the  wonderful  stairway,  I  saying 
nothing  and  breathing  pretty  hard,  but  trying 
not  to  let  anyone  know  it,  and  then  along  the 
upper  hallway  to  a  shuttered  door.  It  was 
opened  for  me  and  I  went  in  to  what  was  to 
be  my  room. 

So  quaint,  so  complete  was  it,  Carin,  that  I 
hardly  know  how  to  describe  it  to  you.  The 
walls  were  papered  with  a  design  of  pine  leaves 
on  pearly  white;  the  draperies  were  white 
muslin  and  green  silk;  the  furniture  was  of 
white  wood,  upholstered  in  green.    There  were 


MADAM  GRANDMOTHER         71 

only  two  pictures,  both  of  the  sea;  one  with 
wild  waves  dashing  over  a  rock  in  the  bright 
sunshine,  the  other  a  quiet,  wonderful  picture 
of  rippling  miles  of  water  the  color  of  the 
inside  of  a  shell.  The  sun  must  have  been 
rising,  but  one  did  not  see  it  —  only  banks  of 
soft  cloud,  with  a  gray  veil  before  them. 

Can  you  imagine  it  all? 

Then,  as  each  drawer  was  opened,  or  the 
closets,  or  the  armoire,  sweet  odors  of  dried 
herbs  came  forth.  Everywhere  was  fragrance 
and  peace. 

"  You-all  trunks  w^ill  be  comin'  along  by 
express  I  reckon,"  said  Semmy  as  she  began  to 
unpack  my  bag.  I  wondered  what  Aunt 
Lorena  would  wish  me  to  say.  Should  I  let  my 
black  maid  know  that  all  I  owned  was  there 
before  her  —  not  enough  to  fill  two  of  the 
drawers  in  the  deep  bureau?  Then  it  occurred 
to  me  that  it  was  not  necessary  to  tell  her  any- 
thing at  all. 

"  How  nicely  you  have  put  everything 
away,"  I  said  to  her.  "  Here  is  a  little  basket 
that  I  made  with  my  own  hands.  Will  you  let 
me  give  it  to  you?  " 

So  I  got  rid  of  Semmy  and  her  questions,  and 


n  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

was  left  alone  wondering  what  I  should  do 
next.  Nothing  I  possessed  went  in  any  way 
with  my  grand  surroundings,  but  I  reflected 
that  Mother  McBirney  would  have  decided,  in 
such  circumstances,  that  one  could  at  least  be 
neat  and  clean. 

So  I  bathed  in  my  beautiful  bathroom,  and 
I  donned  fresh  clothes.  It  was  rather  chilly, 
and  I  hardly  knew  what  to  wear.  But  at  last 
I  put  on  the  low-necked  white  frock  Aunt 
Zillah  Pace  made  for  me  —  every  stitch  hand 
sewn  —  and  the  amber  beads  your  mother  gave 
me,  and  a  scarf  of  yellow  silk  that  was  Barbara 
Summers'  Christmas  present  to  me.  I  had 
some  white  slippers  and  silk  stockings  —  gifts 
from  your  dear  mother,  Carin.  So  I  managed 
fairly  well,  I  thought. 

Out  in  the  corridor  I  met  my  aunt  coming 
to  my  room. 

"  I  have  told  your  grandmother,"  she 
whispered.  "  She  is  terribly  excited.  I  ought 
to  have  waited,  perhaps  —  to  let  her  get 
acquainted  with  you  and  then  to  tell  her  after 
she  became  fond  of  you.  Oh,  I  wish  I  had ! 
But  it  is  too  late  now.  Anyway,  we  mustn't 
keep  her  waiting  a  minute.     How  lovely  you 


MADAM  GRANDMOTHER         73 

look,  Azalea!  Just  as  a  young  girl  should. 
Will  you  come  with  me  now?  Your  uncle  is 
with  his  mother." 

I  had  never  seen  Aunt  Lorena  excited  before, 
and  I  could  hardly  understand  why  she  should 
be  so  now,  though  I  will  confess  that  I  felt 
very  strange  myself.  I  had  to  take  hold  of 
Aunt  Lorena's  arm  going  down  that  long 
flight  of  stairs. 

Then,  once  we  were  down,  the  old  black 
butler  bowed  us  into  the  drawing-room,  which 
was  glittering  with  old-time  luster  candelabra, 
and  at  the  end  of  the  room,  all  in  gray  and 
white  and  diamonds,  with  hair  of  pure  silver, 
was  the  littlest,  proudest,  stateliest  lady  I  ever 
saw  or  dreamed  of.  You  cannot  imagine  how 
small  she  was  or  how  regal.  She  sat  in  a  high- 
backed  carved  chair  on  a  dais,  like  a  queen, 
and  Uncle  David  stood  by  her  quite  as  if  he 
were  her  prime  minister  and  wxre  terribly 
worried  over  some  affair  of  state. 

I  saw  him  looking  at  me  anxiously,  and  I 
knew  he  was  doubting  my  power  to  please  this 
little  queenly  lady.  But  at  that  very  moment  all 
of  my  own  fears  departed  and  I  only  remem- 
bered that  at  last  here  was  one  of  my  very,  very 


74  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

own  folk,  and  I  ran  down  the  room  and  lifted 
her  hand  in  mine  and  kissed  it.  Yes,  I  knelt 
right  there  on  that  queer  little  dais  and  held  her 
hand  to  my  lips.  I  was  going  to  call  her 
"  grandmother,"  but  she  looked  so  regal  that  I 
could  not  quite  speak  that  familiarly,  so  I 
called  her  "  madam  grandmother  "   instead, 

"  Madam  grandmother,"  I  cried,  "  I  am 
your  own  granddaughter.  Please,  please  love 
me!" 

"  Arise,  my  child,"  she  said  as  if  I  were 
indeed  the  long  lost  daughter  of  a  queen  —  as 
I  so  often  had  pretended  to  be  —  and  she  lifted 
me  up  and  looked  at  me  through  her  little  gold- 
rimmed  lorgnette. 

"  David,"  she  said  proudly,  "  she  is  the  liv- 
ing image  of  our  dear  Jack!" 

''  Yes,  mother,"  said  Uncle  David  gently. 
"  I  was  sure  you  would  think  that,  and  indeed 
I  agree  with  you,  and  so  does  Lorena." 

"  Lorena,"  said  madam  grandmother  in  a 
voice  of  command,  "  I  confide  this  child  to 
your  keeping.  She  must  be  your  especial  care. 
You  will  rear  her,  Lorena,  to  be  worthy  of  her 


name." 


"  I    am    glad,    mother,"    said   Aunt   Lorena, 


MADAM  GRANDMOTHER         75 

"  that  you  think  me  capable  of  performing 
such  an  important  and  delicate  task." 

"  Lorena,  you  were  a  Ravanel,  and  the 
Ravanels  have  no  need  to  doubt  themselves. 
I  could  place  her  in  no  better  hands." 

"  My  Aunt  Lorena  has  already  been  looking 
after  me  more  kindly  than  I  can  say,  madam 
grandmother,"  I  said.  "  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
good  she  was  to  me  when  I  was  ill." 

"Hah!"  cried  my  grandmother,  "I  like 
your  voice,  Azalea.  Moreover,  I  like  your 
manner;  and  I  admire  your  name.  I  wish  to 
hear  something  of  your  life.  David  and 
Lorena,  you  have,  no  doubt,  already  heard  this 
story.  If  you  wish  to  withdraw  you  may  do  so. 
Please  close  the  doors  as  you  go.  JVIy  grand- 
daughter and  myself  vv^ill  have  a  conference." 

Carin,  would  you  have  supposed  anyone 
could  speak  in  this  manner  in  the  present  day 
and  generation?  I  would  never  have  believed 
it  myself  if  I  had  not  heard  it. 

Sampson,  the  old  butler,  was  summoned  to 
bring  up  a  low,  comfortable  chair  for  me,  and 
sitting  in  this,  holding  my  grandmother's  little 
wrinkled,  jeweled  hands  in  mine,  I  told  her  all 
the  story. 


76  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

Once  she  asked  me  to  ring  to  have  the  fire 
lighted  in  the  great  fireplace,  and  "  old  James," 
as  the  utility  man  is  called,  came  in  and  did  it. 
Otherwise  we  were  left  quite  to  ourselves. 
Callers  came,  but  she  asked  to  be  excused. 

"  I  have  been  receiving  callers  all  my  life," 
she  said  to  me,  "  but  never,  never  before  have 
I  sat  with  a  granddaughter  of  my  own  —  and 
as  true  a  Knox  as  ever  drew  the  breath  of  life. 
Every  tone  of  your  voice,  my  dear,  reminds 
me  of  your  father;  every  look  and  gesture  is 
like  him.  This  is  the  happiest  day  I  have  had 
for  many  years." 

"  You  do  not  question  my  identity  at  all, 
madam  grandmother,"  I  said.  "  It  is  very 
gracious  of  you." 

"  The  story  your  Uncle  David  told  me  was 
convincing,  my  child.  But  aside  from  that, 
your  face  is  a  confirmation  of  the  truth  of  your 
story.  But  continue,  please.  I  wish  to  hear 
everything  you  have  to  say." 

So  I  talked  on  and  on,  and  she  listened 
seriously  and  kindly,  sometimes  with  her  head 
drooping  a  little,  other  times  proudly,  with 
her  little  gold-bound  glasses  raised.  I  could 
see  that  she  suffered  horribly  when  I  told  of 


MADAM  GRANDMOTHER         11 

how  my  sweet  mother  and  I  had  struggled  on, 
how  we  had  gone  hungry  and  cold  and  had  had 
to  associate  with  drunken,  coarse,  cruel  people. 
But  I  told  her  everything.  I  seemed  to  owe 
that  much  to  my  little  mother. 

Then,  after  a  long  time,  I  finished.  She 
looked  at  me  with  a  strange,  sad,  wistful  air 
that  made  me,  for  all  her  pride,  think  of  a 
child  who  had  done  wrong  and  who  wished  to 
be  forgiven. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  she  said,  "  that  you  did  not 
know  your  father.  Azalea.  You  would  have 
loved  him.  No  one  could  help  loving  him. 
Please,  for  my  sake,  do  not  hate  his  memory." 

"  No,  no,"  I  answered,  "  I  will  not  hate  him, 
or  anyone.     I  haven't  time  to  hate  anyone." 

Just  then  a  beautiful  sound  stole  through 
the  room.  I  could  not  tell  what  it  was  or 
where  it  came  from,  but  grandmother  smiled 
at  my  surprise  and  told  me  that  it  was  only 
the  dinner  gong.     So  she  arose  and  said: 

"  Your  arm.  Azalea,  please,"  and  we  went 
down  the  long  drawing-room  together,  and 
when  we  reached  the  door  the  old  butler  threw 
wide  the  leaves  of  it  for  us,  and  we  crossed  the 
great  corridor  and  went  to   the   dining   room. 


78  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

It  was  all  glittering  with  silver  and  glass  and 
shining  with  white  linen  and  glowing  with 
flowers,  and  there  was  the  butler  and  a  man  to 
help  him,  and  Martha,  grandmother's  own 
woman,   to   stand   behind   her   chair. 

Try  to  think  of  your  own  rough  and  ready 
Azalea,  sitting  there  amid  that  grandeur,  acting 
as  if  she  were  used  to  it.  But  it  is  asking  too 
much  of  you,  isn't  it,  honey?  Everyone  talked 
very  softly,  and  when  they  laughed  they 
seemed  to  do  so  rather  cautiously,  and  the 
servants  moved  about  as  if  it  would  be  a  ter- 
rible crime  to  make  a  noise,  though  I  could  see 
perfectly  well  by  the  expression  of  their  faces, 
that  they  took  an  interest  in  everything.  Of 
course  we  had  delicious  things  to  eat.  There 
was  some  kind  of  a  frozen  dessert  that  Aunt 
Lorena  said  was  made  in  my  honor. 

"  We  have  this  only  on  notable  occasions," 
she  declared. 

After  dinner  we  went  back  to  the  drawing- 
room  again,  and  my  grandmother  asked  me  to 
sing.  So  I  did,  but  not  very  well,  and  she 
asked  me  to  dance,  and  I  did  that,  too,  with 
Aunt  Lorena  playing  for  me.  But  I  don't 
believe   I   danced   very  well   either.      Making 


MADAM  GRANDMOTHER         79 

up  a  solo  dance  as  you  go  along  isn't  easy,  is  it, 
Carin?  But  at  any  rate,  grandmother  seemed 
pleased,  and  I  am  sure  it  helped  her  to  pass 
the  evening.  The  last  hour  I  sat  beside  her, 
telling  her  stories  of  Mother  McBirney  and 
all  my  friends,  and  she  kept  her  hand  on  my 
arm,  and  now  and  then  cried  to  Uncle  David: 

"  Isn't  it  incredible  that  we  have  found  her? 
Isn't  she  the  picture  of  your  brother  Jack?" 

Finally  Aunt  Lorena  said  it  was  time  for  us 
all  to  go  to  bed,  and  when  grandmother  pro- 
tested, she  reminded  her  how  weary  we  were 
from  our  long  journey.  So  old  Martha  was 
called  for  grandmother,  and  Semmy  was  called 
for  me,  and  we  all  went  off  to  our  rooms.  I 
had  to  laugh  a  little  —  at  least,  I  think  I 
laughed,  but  maybe  I  cried,  too  —  to  think  of 
my  little  loft  at  home,  and  the  pieces  of  round 
tin  nailed  over  the  mouse  holes.  And  then  to 
look  around  at  this  new  room  of  mine! 

The  bed  was  soft  as  down,  and  scented  with 
lavender,  and  there  was  an  eiderdown  comfort 
to  snuggle  under.  It  was  such  a  wonderful 
bed  that  I  couldn't  go  to  sleep  for  thinking 
about  it,  but  lay  awake  for  a  long  time,  as  I 
never  had  done  in  my  little  loft.     There  was 


80  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

much  to  think  over,  Carin  —  so  much.  And 
always  I  kept  wondering:  "  Have  I  done 
right?  Is  this  going  to  help  me  weave  my 
silver  web?  " 

I  was  so  wrapped  up  in  my  thoughts  that  I 
heard,  without  hearing,  a  certain  little  soft, 
stealthy  sound  for  several  seconds  before  I 
realized  that  something  unusual  was  happen- 
ing. Then,  when  that  fact  really  came  to  me, 
I  sat  up  in  bed  to  listen. 

Someone,  it  w^as  evident,  was  stealing  along 
the  hall.  Then  I  heard  the  soft,  creeping  steps 
down  the  stairs,  and  after  a  while  a  door 
opened  —  a  little  door  right  beneath  my 
window. 

I  slipped  out  of  bed  and  looked  from  my 
window,  and  I  could  see  a  little  white  figure 
gliding  away  from  the  house.  It  was  no  larger 
than  that  of  a  child,  but  the  motions  it  made 
were  not  a  child's,  and  that  is  how  I  came 
to  know  that  it  was  grandmother.  I  couldn't 
think  it  right  for  her  to  be  going  out  into  the 
garden  in  the  middle  of  the  night  in  her  night 
clothes,  so  I  ran  down  the  stairs.  I  found  the 
little  door  opened  from  a  cloak  room,  and  I 
stumbled  out  into  the  darkness  after  her.     But 


MADAM  GRANDMOTHER         81 

it  was  very  dark  and  I  did  not  know  the  garden, 
so  in  a  few  moments  I  found  myself  quite  hope- 
lessly lost  amid  the  hedges.  I  was  afraid  some- 
thing dreadful  might  happen  if  I  wasted  any 
more  time,  so  I  got  back  to  the  house,  and  ran 
upstairs  to  try  to  find  Aunt  Lorena's  room. 

But  all  of  the  bedroom  doors  in  the  house 
have  shutters  to  them,  and  these  shutters  were 
closed,  so  I  could  not  possibly  tell  which  rooms 
were  occupied  and  which  were  not,  and  all  I 
could  do  was  to  run  up  and  down,  knocking  at 
each  one  and  calling: 

"Oh,  Aunt  Lorena,  Uncle  David,  come!" 

It  was  like  a  horrible  nightmare.  It  seemed 
as  if  more  doors  kept  coming  into  existence 
right  there  before  my  eyes.  The  place  was  so 
dark —  I  had  no  idea  where  to  find  the  electric 
buttons  —  that  if  the  doors  had  not  been  white 
I  could  not  have  seen  them  at  all.  Truly, 
Carin,  it  was  the  most  frightening  thing  that 
ever  happened  to  me. 

But  I  hear  the  dinner  gong.  I  will  send  this 
off,  there  is  so  much  of  it,  and  to-morrow  I  will 
write  you  again. 

Your  own 

Azalea 


CHAPTER  V 

MALLOWBANKS 
Mallowbanks.  November  third. 


} 


Carin,  dear: 

Where  did  I  leave  ofif?  Oh,  yes,  where  I 
went  running  down  the  big  dark,  winding 
corridors,  knocking  and  knocking  at  the  strange 
doors! 

Well,  presently  one  of  them,  far  away  from 
where  I  was,  opened,  and  a  voice  called: 

"What  is  it?    Oh,  what  is  it?" 

"  Is  it  you.  Aunt  Lorena,"  I  cried,  running 
toward  the  voice. 

"  Yes,   yes.    Azalea.     Tell   me   what   is    the 


matter." 


"  Grandmother  has  gone  out  In  the  garden  in 
her  night  clothes.  I  tried  to  follow  her,  but 
I've  lost  her  somewhere." 

"  Oh,  dear,"  sighed  my  aunt.  "  It  is  her  old 
trouble  again.  I  suppose  your  coming  excited 
her.     She  has  little  spells  of  forgetfulness  and 

82 


M  ALLOWS  AN  KS  83 

she  wanders  out  to  meet  Jack,  your  father, 
secretly,  forgetting  that  he  is  dead.  After  his 
father  forbade  him  the  house,  she  used  to  do 
that  —  to  meet  him  at  night  and  take  him 
money  and  clothes  —  anything  that  she  thought 
would  help  him.  I  don't  believe  she'll  come  to 
any  harm.  She  never  has.  We'll  send  old 
Martha  for  her,  for  it  would  hurt  her  feelings 
dreadfully  if  we  were  to  go  and  if  she  were 
to  realize  that  she  has  been  wandering  again. 
She's  very  proud,  you  know." 

And,  Oh,  didn't  I  know  it,  Carin!  Never 
have  I  seen  so  much  pride  in  such  a  little 
creature. 

Aunt  Lorena  called  old  Martha,  and  the 
poor  black  thing,  with  her  huge  nightcap  on, 
and  a  great  flowered  robe,  and  slippers  that 
flopped  at  every  step,  ran  sleepily  out  into  the 
garden,  calling: 

"  Ole  Miss,  ole  Miss,  where  be  ye?  Cain't 
ye  answer  Martha?  She's  wanting  ye  bad! 
Please,  ole  Miss,  where  be  ye?  " 

Aunt  Lorena  and  I  followed  along  behind, 
running  down  a  long  shaded  walk  which  the 
moonlight  mottled,  till  at  last  we  came  to  a 
little  pool.     This  was  like  a  shield  of  bright 


84  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

steel,  all  shining  and  wonderful.  There  were 
rustling  noises  all  about  us  which  suited  the 
place  and  the  hour  but  which  I  did  not 
understand. 

"  What  is  It?  "  I  whispered. 

"  The  swans.    We  have  disturbed  them." 

And  just  then,  Carin,  out  into  that  glistening 
pool  swam  a  coal  black  swan  followed  by  two 
white  ones.  They  didn't  seem  like  real  birds 
but  like  some  sort  of  a  vision. 

"  It  is  just  beyond  the  pond  that  mother  used 
to  go  to  meet  your  father,"  said  Aunt  Lorena 
tenderly.  I  loved  her  for  speaking  like  that. 
She  was  sorry  for  this  old  mother's  grief,  and 
sympathized  with  the  memories  that  haunted 
her  and  drove  her  from  her  bed.  I  put  my 
arm  right  around  her  neck  and  kissed  her. 

''  Oh,  Aunt  Lorena,"  I  said,  "  I  think  you 
are  very  sweet." 

''Hush!"  she  warned,  and  turning  I  saw 
Martha  coming  back  with  her  arm  around  poor 
little  madam  grandmother.  We  stepped  back 
in  the  shrubbery  and  kept  very  still  while  they 
passed.  Grandmother  was  weeping  like  a  hurt 
child. 

"  Your  young  master  wasn't  there,  Martha," 


We  stepped  back  in  the  shrubbery  and  kept  very  still 
while  they  passed.  Grandmother  was  weeping  like  a 
hurt  child. 


MALLOWBANKS  85 

she  was  saying.  ''  He  was  to  meet  me  there 
to-night  and  I  was  to  give  him  this."  She  held 
up  something  in  her  hand  that  sparkled  in  the 
moonlight.  "  It  was  my  own,  Martha,"  she 
went  on,  "  so  I  had  a  perfect  right  to  give  it 
away  if  I  wanted.  Oh,  what  do  you  suppose 
has  happened  to  your  young  master?  " 

"Jes'  nothin'  at  all,  ole  Miss,"  Martha  said, 
her  voice  sounding  more  like  that  of  a  wild 
dove  than  anything  else  I  could  think  of. 
"  He's  sure  all  right,  ole  Miss.  He's  jes'  doin' 
fine.  That's  why  he  didn't  need  for  to  come 
for  yo'  pretties.  Yo'  jes'  take  heart,  ole  Miss. 
That  Mass'  Jack,  he  won't  let  no  hahm  come 
to  him." 

"  I  pray  heaven,"  Aunt  Lorena  whispered 
to  me  when  they  had  passed,  "  that  good  old 
Martha  will  outlive  mother,  for  I  have  no  idea 
how  we  should  manage  without  her." 

We  stole  softly  into  the  house  and  up  a  little 
flight  of  stairs,  and  then  down  the  corridor  to 
grandmother's  door.  We  could  hear  Martha 
still  crooning  to  her  as  if  she  were  a  fright- 
ened child,  and  then,  little  by  little,  grand- 
mother ceased  weeping. 

"  Come,"   whispered   Aunt  Lorena,    and   we 


86  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

stole  away  to  my  room.  She  saw  me  back  into 
my  bed,  and  kissed  me  good  night  —  not 
warmly,  the  way  Mother  McBirney  used,  but 
gently  and  kindly.  I  like  her  better  for  not 
pretending  to  what  she  does  not  feel.  She  will 
grow  fonder  of  me  if  I  deserve  it. 

"  We'll  say  nothing  about  this  to  your  Uncle 
David,"  she  cautioned  me.  "  It  makes  him 
wretched  for  days  when  he  learns  that  his 
mother  has  been  *  wandering.'  " 

"  She'll  not  be  ill  as  a  result  of  this?" 

"Probably  not  —  only  a  little  distrait  and 
quiet." 

I  was  left  alone  again  in  my  fragrant  room, 
and  still  I  could  not  sleep  for  thinking  of  how 
my  life  had  changed,  and  how  curious  were 
these  people  I  had  come  among.  I  saw  the 
stars  moving  along  in  their  courses,  and  light 
beginning  to  break  in  the  east.  And  then,  just 
to  show  how  inconsistent  I  could  be,  I  fell 
asleep. 

I  slept  till  noon.  Think  of  it  —  me,  the 
Early  Riser! 

Perhaps  I  wouldn't  have  awakened  then  if 
Semmy  hadn't  come  in  with  chocolate  and  rolls 
and  an  omelet. 


M  ALLOWS  AN  KS  87 

"  Ole  Miss  is  wanting  you,  Miss,"  she  said. 

So  I  ate  quickly  and  dressed  in  my  dark  blue 
frock  with  the  crocheted  lace  collar  and  cuffs 
and  was  taken  to  her.  She  was  in  her  bedroom 
still,  or  rather  in  her  sitting  room,  for  her 
bedroom  is  a  stately  alcove  raised  two  or  three 
feet  above  her  sitting  room.  To-day  she  was 
all  in  purple,  with  studs  of  amethysts  in  her 
white  lace  chemisette  and  at  the  fastenings  of 
her  long  lace  sleeves.  It  was  very  difficult  to 
imagine  that  this  was  the  same  little  broken 
creature  I  had  heard  weeping  aloud  the  night 
before,  and  being  comforted  like  a  baby. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said  when  I  went  in,  "  I 
hear  that  you  did  not  rest  well  last  night." 

"  Not  very  well,  thank  you,  madam  grand- 
mother," I  said  dropping  her  a  curtsy  as  Aunt 
Lorena  had  told  me  to  do. 

"  Being  in  a  new  place  no  doubt  disturbed 
you,"  said  my  grandmother.  "  You  did  well  to 
refresh  yourself  with  sleep  this  morning.  At 
your  age,  my  dear,  I  seldom  arose  before  noon, 
but  that  was  because  of  the  many  gayeties  in 
which  I  participated  —  a  ball  or  a  rout  almost 
every  night,  and  gentlemen  riding  out  in  the 
afternoon  to  call.     The  times  are  not  so  bril- 


^ 


88  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

liant  now,  I  regret  to  say.  However,  a  few  of 
the  old  families  remain  to  keep  alive  the  ele- 
gant traditions  of  my  time,  and  I  have  called 
you  here,  Azalea,  to  say  that  I  wish  you  to  be 
presented  to  my  friends." 

I  curtsied  again.  Her  queer  quaint  way  of 
talking  made  me  feel  that  nothing  save  a  curtsy 
would  suit  the  occasion. 

"Thank  you,  madam  grandmother;  I  shall 
be  honored." 

My  grandmother  put  up  her  lorgnette. 

"Azalea!"  she  said  sharply. 

"  Yes,  grandmother." 

"Your  manners  are  admirable." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  grandmother.  I  dare  say 
they  are  —  are  inherited." 

My  grandmother  smiled  and  traced  her  left 
eyebrow  with  her  jeweled  fingers. 

"  You  may  sit  down  near  me,"  she  said.  "  I 
want  to  talk  to  you  about  your  coming-out 
party." 

So  then  she  told  me  something  about  her 
friends;  who  had  done  this  and  who  that,  and 
every  one  she  mentioned  was  at  least  sixty 
years  of  age  and  some,  as  nearly  as  I  could 
reckon,  were  eighty  or  over.     So  at  last  I  said : 


MALLOWBANKS  89 

"  And  may  I  also  be  permitted  to  invite 
some  of  my  own  friends,  dear  grandmother? 
Carin  Carson  who  is  now  in  the  North  at  col- 
lege, and  Annie  Laurie  Pace,  who  lives  at  Lee, 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rowantree  of  Rowantree 
Hall,  and  their  brother,  Keefe  O'Connor  who 
is  at  the  Academy  of  Design  in  New  York? 
And  of  course  the  McBirneys  and  the  Sum- 
mers, and  —  and  some  others." 

I  couldn't  help  thinking  how  I  would  like 
to  have  Haystack  Thompson  play  at  my  party, 
and  how  horrified  grandmother  would  be  if 
she  knew  my  thought  and  what  Haystack  is 
like. 

"  Are  you  sure,"  said  my  grandmother, 
"  that  these  friends  of  yours  would  find  con- 
genial surroundings  at  ?viallowbanks,  my  dear 
Azalea?  There  is  such  a  thing  as  propriety  to 
be  considered." 

"Would  it  be  proper  for  me  to  neglect  the 
friends  who  were  faithful  to  me  for  years  and 
years?"  I  asked.  "  I  was  an  orphan  and  poor 
as  a  beggar,  and  they  took  me  in  to  sit  beside 
their  hearths.  They  gave  me  the  best  they  had; 
hospitality  and  love  and  learning.  If  I  know 
anything  at  all,  it  is  owing  to  them." 


90  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

''  My  dear,"  said  my  grandmother,  "  you 
speak  poetically." 

"  I  speak  the  truth." 

"  You  have  a  loyal  heart." 

''  Yes,  madam  grandmother,  I  admit  it. 
When  I  once  love,  I  can  never  forget." 

"  How^  do  you  know?  You  are  only  a  child." 

"  I  shall  be  like  you,"  I  declared  boldly.  "  I 
wish  to  be  like  you  and  never  to  forget!  " 

She  looked  at  me  sideways.  Then  she  tilted 
her  delicate  chin  and  faced  me  straight. 

"  Azalea  —  last  night  —  did  you  know?  Did 
you  see?  " 

"  I  saw,  grandmother  dear.     Forgive  me." 

''Ah,  Azalea,  your  father  was  my  dearest! 
They  almost  killed  me  when  they  came  between 
him  and  me.  He  was  wayward,  I  know,  but 
he  didn't  have  the  same  ideas  of  goodness  and 
badness  that  others  have.  I  always  loved  him. 
I  love  him  still." 

"  It  is  beautiful  of  you,  madam  grandmother. 
I  hope  to  be  just  like  that." 

"  Very  well,  Azalea.  You  shall  have  your 
friends  to  your  party  if  they  will  come.  You 
shall  ask  the  humblest  if  you  choose." 

"Thank  you,   thank  you,  grandmother;  you 


MALLOWBANKS      "  91 

will  be  proud  to  know  them.  The  humblest 
of  them  are  very  sweet,  but  some,  I  assure  you, 
are  not  humble  at  all.  They  are  accomplished 
enough  to  win  even  your  approval." 

"  No  doubt  they  are  charming,  my  dear 
granddaughter.  But  you  must  remember  that 
you  have  now  come  into  an  important  position. 
Much  will  be  expected  of  you.  You  will  prob- 
ably wed  a  Ravanel.  Many  of  the  women  of 
my  family  did.  My  son  David  did  also,  as 
you  know.  It  is  a  custom  with  us  I  may  say. 
Yes,  a  Ravanel  or  a  Grevy." 

"  But,  dearest  grandmother,  I  must  marry  the 
person  I  love.  What  will  his  last  name  have 
to  do  with  it?  " 

"  Everything,  my  dear  child.  Kindly  fetch 
me  yonder  book." 

"  Yonder  book,"  Carin,  was  very  much  done 
up  in  an  embroidered  cover  and  was  lying  on 
grandmother's  far  cabinet.  I  wish  you  could 
see  her  cabinet  of  fans.  Some  are  quite  his- 
toric and  all  are  exquisite. 

I  brought  the  book  and  it  proved  to  be  a 
genealogy  of  the  Bryce  family.  (Bryce  was 
grandmother's  maiden  name.)  We  studied 
this  for  at  least  an  hour,  and  then  grandmother 


92  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

called  Martha  to  carry  it  to  my  room  that  I 
might  have  it  at  hand  to  consult  whenever  I 
wished. 

"  You  will  see,"  she  said,  "  that  the  Bryce 
ladies  have  married  Ravanels,  Grevys  or 
Knoxes  from  time  immemorial.  You  are  a 
Knox.  You  will  marry  a  Bryce,  a  Ravanel  or 
a  Grevy." 

I  tried  not  to  laugh,  but  to  save  my  life  I 
couldn't  help  it. 

''  Perhaps  none  of  them  will  approve  of  me. 
Remember,  madam  grandmother,  I  am  only  a 
homespun  mountain  maid." 

"  Ah,  but  we  will  transform  you  into  a  shin- 
ing princess,"  cried  my  grandmother  excitedly. 
"  I  already  have  had  that  matter  in  mind." 

Then  she  clapped  her  jeweled  old  hands 
together  as  hard  as  she  could,  and  when  Martha 
came  running,  gasping:  "  Yessum,  ole  Miss, 
yessum,  ole  Miss,"  grandmother  said,  like  a 
potentate  in  the  Arabian  Nights: 

"  Have  the  chests  brought." 

Then  I  remembered  what  Aunt  Lorena  had 
told  me  about  the  chests  in  which  grandmother 
kept  her  old  treasures.  So  I  was  to  see  these 
darling  old  brocades  and  crepes  and  embroid- 


MALLOWBANKS  93 

eries!  Aunt  Lorena  thought  it  would  be  a 
dreadful  thing  to  have  to  dress  in  them,  but  I 
was  wild  to  do  it.  It  seemed  a  part  of  all  the 
strange  play  that  my  life  had  become. 

So  presently  tw^o  of  the  men  servants  came 
staggering  in  under  the  weight  of  a  great  chest, 
and  when  they  had  set  that  down  they  went 
back  for  another,  and  then  for  another  yet. 

I  wouldn't  have  the  chests  opened  till  I  had 
looked  all  over  the  outside  of  them.  One  was 
covered  with  carmine  leather  all  tooled  with 
gilt,  and  it  had  a  great  clasp  with  cupids  on  it. 
Another  was  of  dark  carved  wood,  very  heavy, 
and  lined  with  sandalwood  that  filled  the  whole 
room  with  an  old,  dry  perfume  when  it  was 
opened.  The  other  was  a  sea  chest  with  a 
sailor's  name  carved  on  it. 

"  '  Samuel  Bings,'  "  said  I.  "  What  a  funny 
name." 

My  grandmother  frowned. 

"  I  see  nothing  funny  about  it,"  she  said. 
"  Samuel  Bings  was  a  very  distinguished  and 
unfortunate  man." 

"  Oh,  I  should  love  to  hear  his  story  some 
time,"  I  said  contritely. 

"  You  shall,"  said  my  grandmother  relenting, 


94  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

"  and  when  I  have  told  it  to  you,  you  will  be 
proud  that  the  name  of  Bings  appeared  among 
your  ancestry." 

Well,  then,  Carin,  my  little  squirrel,  we  came 
to  the  opening  of  the  chests.  How  shall  I 
ever  describe  to  you  what  was  in  them?  I 
couldn't  —  not  in  one  letter  nor  three. 

Shawls  and  dolmans,  and  great  flounced 
skirts  and  lace  petticoats  and  silken  nubias,  and 
beaded  fascinators,  and  real  lace  and  fans  and 
slippers  and  silken  stockings,  and  flowing 
undersleeves,  and  old  gloves  and  hats  and 
feathers,  and  embroidered  lingerie  and  lace 
handkerchiefs  and  —  Oh,  mercy,  Carin,  every- 
thing a  belle  of  long  ago  would  wear.  And  a 
belle  of  to-day  throw  away.  But,  no,  I  must 
not  be  disrespectful  to  old  lace  and  brocade, 
nor  to  China  crepe  and  Irish  poplin. 

I  tried  on  the  old  frocks  and  strutted  and 
pranced  around  in  them,  and  put  on  the  queer, 
short  gloves  which  were  as  freckled  with 
mildew  as  Jim's  face.  Of  course  I  don't  mean 
that  Jim  is  mildewed.  Only  that  he  is 
freckled. 

I  wore  the  shawls,  and  dropped  preposterous 
curtsies  in  the  flounced  skirts,  and  I  coquetted 


MALLOWBANKS  95 

with  my  own  venerable  grandmother  behind 
the  cracked  old  fans,  and  did  the  plumes  up 
in  my  hair. 

"  My  dear,"  said  my  grandmother  at  length, 
"  you  must  have  these  interesting  fabrics  made 
over  for  you.  Some  slight  alteration  will  be 
necessary  I  suppose,  but  on  the  whole  they 
become  you  immensely.  You  look  completely 
a  Bryce  in  them." 

Just  then  Aunt  Lorena  came  in.  When  she 
saw  the  litter  in  that  room  and  myself  in  a 
flowered  silk  seven  yards  around  the  bottom  of 
the  skirt,  and  eighteen  inches  around  the  waist 
—  I  was  almost  smothered  by  this  time  —  she 
dropped  in  a  chair  and  turned  white. 

"  At  last!  "  she  gasped. 

"  Yes,  Lorena,"  said  my  grandmother  with 
great  dignity.  "  At  last  I  have  found  someone 
who  appreciates  these  rare  things.  They  were 
offered  to  you  as  the  wife  of  my  only  living 
son.  You  rejected  them.  You  preferred  to 
wear  inferior  fabrics  and  passing  styles.  But 
the  styles  in  which  these  exquisite  fabrics  are 
made  up,  are  historic,  Lorena,  historic.  This 
however,  is  a  point  which  you  do  not  seem  to 
appreciate.     I   therefore  pass  them   on  to  mv 


96  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

granddaughter  —  the  daughter  of  my  second 
son.  You  will  see  that  they  are  adapted  to  her 
needs,  tightened  perhaps  —  " 

"  No,  no,  dear  grandmother,"  I  cried  strug- 
gling with  the  hook  of  that  terrible  dress,  that 
held  me  as  if  it  were  made  of  steel,  "  not  tight- 
ened-   Don't  say  tightened!    I  am  suffocating!" 

Aunt  Lorena  came  to  my  rescue  and  between 
us  we  got  that  band  undone  and  I  was  able 
to  draw  a  long  breath. 

"  In  my  day,"  said  my  little  grandmother, 
"  girls  were  more  delicate  than  they  are  now. 
I  grieve,  Lorena,  to  discover  that  Azalea's  foot 
is  far  too  substantial  for  these  slippers." 

She  looked  regretfully  at  some  yellowed 
satin  slippers  with  tarnished  sequins  on  them. 
Aunt  Lorena  and  I  looked  down  at  my  good 
sizable  feet  —  they  have  done  a  powerful  lot 
of  mountain  climbing,  as  you  know  —  and  we 
both  laughed. 

"  Come,"  said  Aunt  Lorena,  "  we  must  for- 
get dressmaking  for  the  day  and  go  for  a  drive. 
You  too,  mother.  Won't  you  come  in  the 
motor  just  this  once?  " 

"  You  know  very  well  that  I  will  not,  Lorena. 
My  pony  cart  will  do  for  me.     Have  young 


MALLOWBANKS  97 

James  walk  at  the  pony's  head  to-day,  please. 
Old  James  ruined  my  last  drive  by  the  way  he 
groaned  with  the  rheumatism." 

So  all  the  finery  was  carted  off  to  a  big  empty 
room  where,  as  Aunt  Lorena  explained  to 
grandmother,  we  would  be  able  to  look  it 
over  better,  and  I  was  told  to  dress  warmly, 
and  so  got  into  the  nice  thick  coat  Mother 
McBirney  had  made  for  me,  and  put  on  my 
mole-skin  cap,  and  my  veil  and  gloves  —  for 
Aunt  Lorena  is  terribly  fussy  about  having 
people  well  wrapped  when  they  go  motoring 
—  and  uncle  and  auntie  and  I  wxnt  off. 

We  were  gone  for  an  hour  or  two  and  saw 
many  beautiful  old  estates,  but  none  that  I 
liked  better  than  our  own. 

"  Mother  is  being  drawn  about  the  garden 
in  the  pony  cart,"  Aunt  Lorena  told  me.  "  It 
is  curious,  but  she  never  was  a  horsewoman. 
Even  as  a  girl  she  was  rather  timid  with  horses, 
and  now  she  is  very  much  afraid  of  them.  As 
for  an  automobile,  it  fills  her  with  terror.  So 
it  seems  best  to  let  her  do  the  thing  she  enjoys, 
which  is  riding  about  the  garden  and  scolding 
the  gardeners." 

"My  dear!"  said  Uncle  David. 


98  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

Aunt  Lorena  lifted  her  eyebrows. 

"  I'm  sure  I  didn't  mean  to  say  anything  dis- 
respectful," she  said.  "  I  was  only  describing 
things  as  they  are." 

That  her  description  was  quite  right,  we 
were  soon  to  see.  Grandmother  was  still  going 
about  the  garden  when  we  got  home,  and  it 
was  plain  that  she  had  "  everybody  by  the 
ears."  Young  James  was  almost  in  tears,  the 
head  gardener  was  sulky,  the  boys  who  helped 
him  were  laughing,  and  every  one  was  or  pre- 
tended to  be  quite  frightened. 

"Young  James,"  said  my  aunt,  "you  have 
kept  Madam  Knox  out  too  long." 

"  Yessum,  I  know  it,  mum.  I  wanted  her  to 
go  in,  mum,  but  she  wouldn't,  mum." 

"Oh,  mum,  mum,  mum!"  snapped  grand- 
mother, quivering  with  fatigue.  "  Who  ever 
heard  such  talk?     Mum,  mum,  mum!" 

Uncle  David  said  nothing.  He  got  out  of 
the  motor  and  gathered  his  little  silver-headed 
mother  up  in  his  arms  and  carried  her  into  the 
house  as  if  she  were  a  baby.  She  put  her  two 
arms  around  his  neck  and  held  on  tight,  and  I 
saw  him  kiss  her  very  tenderly  when  he  put 
her  down  and  called  Martha  to  her. 


MALLOWBANKS  99 

"  Mum,  mum,"  she  began  saying  again,  but 
Uncle  David  said:  "Stop  th'at,  mother, 
please,"  and  she  did. 

So,  Carin,  this  is  the  life  at  Mallowbanks. 

IVIy  party  is  to  be  Thanksgiving  Day.  Say, 
Oh,  say  that  you  can  come!  To  have  you  here, 
to  have  you  see  all  I  am  so  stupidly  telling  you 
about,  to  get  off  in  my  own  room  with  you 
and  laugh  and  talk  as  we  used,  would,  perhaps, 
make  this  life  seem  real  to  me.  Now,  I  confess, 
it  seems  like  a  dream. 

You  keep  writing  about  that  young  South- 
erner. You  say  he  is  leaving  the  North  and 
going  home.  He  lives  in  Charleston?  Is  his 
name  Bryce  or  Ravanel  or  Grevy?  If  so,  I've 
got  to  marry  him! 

Aunt  Lorena  said,  however,  that  the  only 
unmarried  Ravanel  was  at  least  seventy  and 
deaf  as  an  adder,  and  that  she  wouldn't,  if  she 
were  in  my  place,  be  so  hackneyed  as  to  marry 
a  Grevy.  As  for  the  Bryces,  they  are  my  very 
own  kin  and  out  of  the  question.  So  you  can 
imagine  my  distress!  Tut,  tut,  no  bridegroom. 
And  me  in  long  dresses  with  my  hair  up.  How 
long  must  I  wait? 

As  long,  perhaps,  as  my  coming-out  party. 


100         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

But  it  can't  be  any  sweeter  than  the  birthday 
party  Ma  McBirney  gave  me  when  we  danced 
till  the  moon  came  up  —  and  after. 
Carin,  you  must  come! 

Fondly, 

Azalea. 


CHAPTER  VI 

MY  BALL 

Mallowbanks,   November   thirtieth. 
Bad,  dear,  bad  Carin: 

You  didn't  come  to  my  party!  Oh,  wretched, 
false  friend,  best  and  most  cherished,  why  did 
you  not  come?  Can  it  be  that  a  mere  desire 
to  have  higher  marks  than  anyone  else  in  school 
caused  you  to  desert  me  in  my  hour  of  triumph? 
It  was  that,  I  know.  You  are  trying  to  get 
that  old  Phi  Beta  Kappa  key  —  which  you'll 
not  wear  after  you  do  get  it.  I  call  it  intel- 
lectual pride,  I  do  indeed. 

Keefe  couldn't  come  either.  He  had  an 
order  to  do  a  portrait  for  some  Great  Lady. 
So  he  wouldn't  even  think  of  coming.  He 
said  he  was  in  the  Right  Mood  for  Work,  and 
he  expected  me  to  tremble  before  those  awful 
words,  just  as  you  expected  me  to  tremble 
before  your  Phi  Beta  Kappa  record.  You  two, 
doing    your    duty    with    all    your    might    and 

101 


102         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

leaving  me  alone  in  my  frivolity!  I  call  it 
shabby  of  you. 

Well,  anyway,  Annie  Laurie  came  and  Bar- 
bara Summers  with  her.  Barbara  put  little 
Jonathan  in  the  care  of  Aunt  Zillah  Pace,  and 
she  kept  saying  that  she  felt  perfectly  all 
right  about  him,  though  one  could  see  that 
she  didn't.  It  was  the  first  time  she  ever  had 
left  him  overnight,  and  so  it  was  natural  for 
her  to  feel  nervous.  Though,  as  you  know, 
Jonathan  is  going  to  insist  on  being  taken  care 
of,  and  if  there  is  anything  he  wants  he  is  going 
to  have  it.  He  is  such  a  dear  that  no  one  can 
refuse  him  anything,  as  I  know  to  my  cost! 
The  treasures  of  mine  that  child  has  broken! 

Yes,  those  two  came,  and  I  leave  you  to 
imagine  how  happy  it  made  me.  There  was 
my  little  brown  Barbara  with  her  sweet  voice 
and  her  shy-eager  eyes,  all  dressed  so  quaintly, 
and  being  so  desirous  of  pleasing  everyone, 
and  yet  holding  to  her  own  ideas  with  that 
darling  dignity  of  hers;  and  there  was  my  big, 
glorious  Annie  Laurie  Pace  with  her  red  hair 
and  her  definite  ways,  trying  to  be  frivolous 
with  the  rest  of  us,  and  looking  like  a  pre- 
occupied Diana  all  the  time.     I  had  some  fears 


MY  BALL  103 

that  when  the  folk  at  Mallowbanks  learned 
that  what  she  really  was  preoccupied  with  was 
her  own  dairy,  that  they  might  cast  her  into 
the  outer  darkness  where  the  vast  company  of 
people-the-Knoxes-do-not-know  drag  out  their 
miserable  lives.  But  no,  the  vast  fields  of  Annie 
Laurie  —  they  did  not  lose  a  rod  in  my  descrip- 
tion of  them  —  the  cattle  on  a  thousand  hills, 
more  or  less,  and  the  well  trained  force  of 
helpers  appealed  to  their  imagination.  They 
regarded  her  as  a  Planter  —  or  a  Plantress. 
She  was  accepted.  And  she  w^as  accepted  all 
the  more  because  she  really  and  truly  didn't 
care  much  whether  she  was  or  not.  Annie 
Laurie  came  to  Mallowbanks  for  the  sole  pur- 
pose of  making  me  happy,  and  she  certainly 
succeeded.  I  put  her  in  my  room,  and  I  slept 
on  a  lounge  in  the  dressing  room.  So  we  con- 
trived to  be  together,  and  of  course,  just  like 
the  girls  in  the  song,  we  let  down  our  hair 
before  the  fire  after  the  ball. 

But  I  must  come  to  the  subject  of  the  ball. 

To  begin  with,  Mallowbanks  was  full  of 
guests  who  had  come  to  stay  for  two  nights,  or 
four,  or  seven,  as  the  case  might  be.  They 
were  kin   or  near-kin,   or  old  neighbors   who 


104         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

were  as  dear  as  kin,  and  they  all  called  each 
other  by  their  first  names.  All  the  men,  or 
nearly  all,  had  military  or  judicial  titles;  and 
the  women  were  lovely  and,  in  a  way,  willful 
—  because  they  had  been  much  loved,  I  sup- 
pose. From  first  to  last  it  seemed  to  me  like 
one  of  my  old  dreams  and  nothing  else. 

My  coming-out  party  was  in  several  parts. 

To  begin  with,  there  was  the  afternoon  recep- 
tion. Ladies,  mostly,  came  to  that,  though 
there  were  some  men,  too.  This  was  preceded 
by  a  luncheon  for  forty.  (There  were  little 
tables  scattered  all  over  the  drawing-room,  as 
well  as  the  dining  room.)  The  next  day  there 
was  a  ball.  That  was  the  culmination.  And 
all  week  there  have  been  rides  and  drives  and 
dinners  and  breakfasts  and  teas.  I  have  met 
hundreds  of  people.  I  like  them  all.  I  love 
none,  save  the  people  here  in  my  own  house, 
and  Annie  Laurie  and  my  little  Barbara.  I 
met  Ravanels  and  Grevys  and  Bryces,  but  one 
and  all  neglected  to  ask  my  hand  in  marriage. 
There  was,  indeed,  only  one  I  would  think  of 
marrying,  and.  Oh,  you  yellow-headed  little 
Hun,  I  had  not  talked  with  him  three  minutes 
before   I   knew  that  he  was  your   Southerner. 


MY  BALL  105 

"  I  have  a  great  many  messages  for  you  from 
your  friend  Miss  Carson,"  said  he  to  me. 

"  Oh,"  I  said  right  out,  like  the  simple  moun- 
tain person  I  am,  "  are  you  the  —  " 

Then,  of  course,  I  stopped  and  turned  a 
strange  and  beautiful  red,  something,  I  imagine, 
the  color  of  a  faded  American  beauty  rose. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  smiling,  "  I  am.  At  least  I 
hope  I  am.     I'm  not  sure." 

"  What,  please,"  I  said,  "  is  your  name?  I 
know  all  about  your  noble  qualities,  but  I  do 
not  know  your  name." 

"  My  name,"  he  said,  "  is  Vance  Grevy." 

*'Oh!"  was  all  I  could  say,  thinking  how 
this  was  probably  the  particular  person  madam 
grandmother  had  picked  out  for  me.  Of 
course  I  couldn't  keep  back  my  silly  self-con- 
scious grin,  and  he  smiled  in  much  the  same 
way  I  did. 

"  May  I  present  you,"  I  said,  feeling  very 
"heady,"  the  way  Paprika  used  to  on  a  cold 
morning,  "  to  my  madam  grandmother?  " 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  "  I  have  just  had  the 
honor  of  talking  with  her.  You  were  so  sur- 
rounded that  I  waited  for  a  moment  before 
venturing  to  come  to  you." 


106         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

He  smiled  more  than  ever.  I  summoned  my 
courage.  I  think  it  was  my  courage.  Perhaps 
it  didn't  deserve  so  good  a  name. 

"  May  I  inquire  what  she  said  to  you?" 

"  Do  you  really  want  to  hear?  " 

"  More  than  anything." 

"And  you'll  not  lay  it  up  against  me?"  he 
badgered. 

"  On  my  honor!  " 

"  Then  she  said:  '  My  dear  Mr.  Grevy,  you 
are,  I  take  it,  the  grandson  of  my  old  friend.' 
She  put  up  her  lorgnette  and  looked  me  over. 
'Yes,  you  are  the  living  image  of  him!  Ah, 
your  grandfather  and  I  were  good  friends 
indeed,  at  one  time,  I  assure  you.'  '  How  I 
regret,'  I  said,  '  that  he  had  two  generations  the 
advantage  of  me.'  The  dear  little  thing  let  me 
kiss  her  hand.  '  You  have  his  turns  of  speech, 
also,'  she  said.  Then  she  asked:  'Have  you 
seen  my  granddaughter,  the  only  child  of  my 
dear  Jack? '  '  I  am  on  my  way  to  It,'  I 
declared.  '  Ah,'  she  said,  '  we  must  see  to  it, 
we  Knoxes  and  Ravanels,  we  Bryces  and 
Grevys,  that  she  makes  no  mistakes,  must  we 
not? '  She  looked  at  me  again  through  her 
lorgnette,  appealing  apparently  to  my  chivalry. 


MY  BALL  107 

'  We  are  a  solid  phalanx,'  said  I,  '  to  see  that 
she  comes  to  no  harm.'  *  We  understand  each 
other,'  she  said  with  satisfaction.  '  Your  fam- 
ily never  did  need  superfluous  words.'  " 

I  laughed  and  laughed. 

"  I  have  a  friend,  Mr.  Rowantree,"  I  said, 
"  who  likes  to  tell  me  about  the  comedy  of 
manners.  Isn't  that  what  madam  grand- 
mother pla3^s  all  of  the  time?  " 

"Just!  But  isn't  she  exquisite?  A  survival 
of  a  splendid  old  time." 

"  Yes.  Oh,  you  can't  think  hov\^  I  admire 
and  love  her." 

"  Yes,  I  can.  I  can  very  easily  think  how 
you  do.  Shall  you  confine  yourself  in  your 
associations.  Miss  Ivnox,  to  the  Ravanels  and 
the  Grevys?    Why  not  cut  out  the  Ravanels?  " 

"  There  aren't  many  of  them  left,  are  there?  " 
I  asked  more  gravely.  "  And  you  —  shall  I 
have  many  Grevy's  to  choose  from?  "  ' 

"  There's  my  great  aunt  and  my  m.other  and 
my  married  brother  and  some  second  cousins  — 
nice  girls  they  are,  too." 

"  Oh,  that's  quite  a  selection.  Now  tell  me 
about  my  Carin." 

But    just    then,    of    course,    we    Vv^ere    inter- 


108         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

rupted,  and  the  only  other  times  I  got  a  chance 
to  talk  with  him  was  when  we  were  dancing 
together.  That  was  quite  a  number  of  times, 
because  I  had  him  put  down  three  dances  for 
you,  and  I  acted  as  your  substitute. 

All  joking  aside,  Carin,  I  saw  as  much  of 
him  as  I  could  because  I  was  determined  to 
find  out  what  he  was  like.  He  would  have  to 
be  so  very,  very  fine  to  be  worthy  of  you.  I 
can  see,  my  dear,  partly  from  what  you  say 
and  still  more  from  what  you  do  not  say,  that 
this  is  a  serious  matter  with  you.  So  I  dropped 
all  my  nonsense  and  was  grave  with  him,  and 
he  was  grave  with  me,  and  I  liked  him  —  Oh, 
tremendously.  He  is  earnest  and  ambitious  and 
full  of  the  new  time.  He  doesn't  care  any  more 
about  family  than  is  right  and  sensible,  and 
he's  determined  to  be  a  fine  and  successful  man 
on  his  own  account.  What  is  more,  he  appre- 
ciates you,  Carin!  He  does!  I  wouldn't  rest 
till  I  had  found  out  whether  he  did  or  not. 
It  is  unnecessary  to  say  what  a  gentleman  I 
think  him;  and  though  he  is  not  exactly  hand- 
some, he  has  a  manliness  and  a  grace  that  is 
even  better. 

Yes,  my  blessings  are  all  ready  for  you.   Just 


MY  BALL  109 

let  me  know  whenever  I  am  to  bestow  them. 

Annie  Laurie  has  a  tiny,  beautiful  little 
diamond  on  a  thread  of  gold  which  she  wears 
on  the  little  finger  of  her  left  hand. 

"  Annie  Laurie,"  I  said,  "  that  ring  looks  as  if 
it  had  a  history.  It  has  a  kind  of  a  we'd-better- 
wait-a-while-before-we-tell-our-friends   look." 

''Does  it,  impudent  one?"  she  laughed. 
"  Well,  then  it  looks  to  be  just  what  it  is.  Sam 
gave  it  to  me." 

"Good  Sam  Disbrow,"  I  said.  "He'll  be 
a  fine  person  to  live  with  —  not  ashamed  in  the 
wrong  place  nor  proud  at  the  wrong  time,  nor 
too  selfish  nor  too  unselfish  —  just  sensible  and 
reliable  and  honest  straight  through." 

"  He  and  I  understand  each  other,"  said 
Annie  Laurie  softly,  "  perfectly." 

"Of  course  you  do.  Why  shouldn't  you? 
Haven't  you  taken  years  and  years  to  get 
acquainted?  Tell  me,  does  he  ever  hear  any- 
thing of  his  adopted  father,  and  his  family?  " 

"  Not  a  thing,"  said  she.     "  Not  one  thing." 

"  They  just  '  went  west.'  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Have  you  any  other  news?  " 

Annie  Laurie  burst  out  laughing. 


no         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

"Haven't  I,  just?" 

"  About  whom,  then?  " 

"  Haystack  Thompson.  Did  you  know  he 
was  courting  Hi  Kitchell's  '  ma  '  ?  " 

''  I  did.  I  saw  him  with  a  collar  on,  and  no 
violin.  He  had  combed  his  hair;  and  she  wore 
white  cotton  gloves." 

''Well,  we  all  thought  it  was  settled.  The 
only  thing  that  worried  us  was  how  Haystack 
was  to  care  for  a  wife  when  he  got  one.  He 
has  always  been  more  or  less  like  Tommy 
Tucker,  singing  for  his  supper  —  or  rather, 
playing  on  Betsy,  his  violin.  But  for  a  time 
the  violin  had  to  stay  in  the  background,  which 
made  some  of  us  feel  rather  sad.  We  hardly 
liked  to  have  Haystack  settle  down  like  other 
folks  and  be  domestic  and  regular.  But  we 
needn't  have  worried." 

"No?" 

"No.  Little  Mrs.  Kitchell  got  a  new  gray 
Henrietta,  and  a  gray  velvet  hat  with  a  real 
plume,  and  made  herself  twelve  new  of  every- 
thing, aprons  included,  and  there  was  general 
excitement.  The  ladies  about  town  began  to 
give  her  presents  and  to  insist  that  they  should 
all  be  invited  to  the  wedding,  and  to  ask  when 


MY  BALL  111 

it  was  to  be.  But  Mrs.  Kitchell  didn't  quite 
know.  '  Very  soon,'  she  said.  '  In  a  week  or 
two.'  She  said  that  for  quite  a  while.  Then 
one  morning,   Haystack  disappeared." 

"Oh,  Annie  Laurie!" 

"Yes,  he  did.  Just  disappeared.  He  took 
Betsy  the  violin,  and  left  ail  his  new  collars 
behind.  Likewise  his  suit  of  blue  diagonal  that 
he  was  to  have  been  married  in.  That  was  all, 
except  a  bunch  of  bittersweet  berries  tied  with 
grass,  which  poor  little  Anne  Kitchell  found 
on  her  account  book.  Under  it  he  had  written 
the  word  '  Good-bye.'  " 

"  How  did  she  take  it?" 

"  Well,  she  sent  for  Aunt  Zillah,  and  of 
course  Aunt  Zillah  hurried  right  over  to  her 
and  kept  giving  her  dry  handkerchiefs  till  she 
got  over  the  worst  of  it.  I  think  Aunt  Zillah 
made  the  reason  of  his  defection  clear  to  her. 
'  You  couldn't  shut  Mr.  Thompson  up  in  a 
house  and  keep  him  there  any  more  than  you 
could  a  catamount,'  she  told  her.  '  He's  a 
wander  man  and  a  music  man.  What  would 
he  be  if  he  were  to  settle  down  and  play  a 
respectable  part? '  Little  Anne  Kitchell 
admitted  it.     '  I  liked  him  because  he  was  so 


112  .      AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

different  from  other  folks,'  she  said.  '  He 
didn't  seem  to  have  no  care  nor  trouble,  but 
I  suppose  if  I'd  married  him,  he  would  have 
had.'  '  Of  course  he  would,'  said  Aunt  Zillah. 
'  He  would  have  had  stepchildren,  and  they 
might  not  have  liked  him.  And  you  would  have 
wanted  him  to  be  proper  and  regular  in  his 
habits,  and  he  would  have  fretted  like  a  caged 
hawk.'  '  I  reckon  it's  all  for  the  best,'  said 
Anne  Kitchell,  and  dried  her  tears.  So  no 
more  has  been  heard  from  Haystack.  He's  free 
again,  drinking  out  of  springs,  sleeping  in  the 
woods,  playing  his  violin  to  squirrels  and 
children  and  lovers.  As  for  Anne  Kitchell,  she 
is  wearing  her  fine  clothes  and  is  setting  her  cap 
for  a  heavy-set  man  who  has  just  come  to  town 
and  set  up  a  feed  store.'  " 

Oh,  Carin,  isn't  that  fun?  And  aren't  you 
glad  Haystack  Thompson  got  off?  I'd  hate 
to  have  civilization  trap  him,  w^ouldn't  you? 

Well,  well,  I  started  to  tell  you  about  my 
ball.  It  was  a  wonderful  ball.  We  danced  in 
the  drawing-room  under  the  luster  candelabra, 
and  we  danced  down  the  long  corridor  with 
the  carved  panels.  We  women  were  all  shin- 
ing in  beautiful  garments,   but  I   haven't  any 


MY  BALL  .    113 

desire  to  describe  them  to  you,  except  that  my 
little  grandmother  wore  a  gown  of  cloth  of 
silver  and  rose  point  lace  and  all  of  her 
diamonds;  and  I,  to  please  her  —  and  it  almost 
drove  poor  Aunt  Lorena  wild  —  chose  a  queer 
old  silk  of  hers  striped  like  ribbon  grass  in 
white  and  greeny-white  and  faded  lilac  and 
mauve.  Over  it  I  draped  the  thinnest  silken 
lace.  Then  grandmother  gave  me  a  necklace 
of  darling  little  pearls,  and  I  had  white  satin 
slippers  with  little  butterflies  embroidered  on 
them  in  greeny-white  and  faded  pink,  and  a 
fan  of  the  same  colors,  painted  with  butterfly 
wings. 

"  I  never  saw  a  coming-out  dress  like  that 
in  all  my  life,"  said  Aunt  Lorena. 

"  Lorena,"  said  grandmother  magnificently, 
"  the  Knoxes  can  afiford  to  do  as  they  please." 

But  for  my  afternoon  reception,  to  please 
Aunt  Lorena,  I  wore  drifting  white  stuff  — 
white  everything — and  carried  Killarney 
roses,  and  was  just  as  conventional  as  I  could 
be.  Aunt  Lorena  kept  pointing  to  me  and 
saying: 

"  This  is  the  way  I  want  the  child  to  look," 
and  at  the  ball  grandmother  said   to   her  old 


114         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

friends:  "Wouldn't  you  think  she  was  one 
of  us  all  over  again?  Don't  you  like  a  young 
girl  to  dress  like  that?  " 

Everybody  agreed  with  Aunt  Lorena,  and 
everybody  agreed  with  grandmother.  And  I 
was  very  happy  all  of  the  time. 

No,  I  find  I'm  not  going  to  describe  the 
ball. 

Why  not? 

Oh,  because  it  was  vague,  after  all  —  just 
meeting  strange  people  and  dancing  with 
strange  people,  and  trying  to  think  of  the 
right  thing  to  say  when  people  complimented 
me  —  as,  of  course,  they  thought  they  had  to 
do  —  and  being  looked  over  and  being  told 
I  was  a  perfect  Knox,  and  hearing  the  music 
always,  always,  and  feeling  the  dance  get  into 
my  toes,  and  knowing  my  cheeks  were  burning 
and  my  eyes  flaming,  and  wanting  to  put  my 
face  down  in  the  cool  moss  on  the  bench  of 
the  mountain  where  the  three  tulip  trees  grow, 
and  drink  and  drink  of  my  spring  till  I  was 
cooled  in  body  and  spirit. 

Yes,  Carin,  it  was  like  that  I  am  not 
ungrateful.  I  like  this  life;  a  part  of  me 
answers    to    it   completely.      Yet,    somehow,    I 


MY  BALL  115 

believe  it  has  come  too  late.  I  feel  that  sooner 
or  later  I  shall  go  back  to  the  mountain  and 
stay  there.  I  miss  the  red  roads  and  the  misty 
dawns  and  the  still,  still  moonlights,  with  me 
answering  the  whippoorwill  and  the  owl.  I 
miss  Ma  McBirney  and  the  little  graves  under 
the  Pride  of  India  tree.  I  am  just  Azalea 
the  mountain  girl  after  all,  I  am  afraid,  though 
they  keep  telling  me  how  gay  I  am  and  how 
I  fit  into  my  present  life,  and  congratulating 
me  because  I  never  seem  to  be  tired. 

But  I  was  secretly  very  tired  when  at  last 
the  week  of  festivities  was  over.  There  had 
been  a  great  company  of  us  at  Thanksgiving 
dinner,  and  we  had  seen  and  tasted  all  that 
was  most  splendid  in  the  way  of  Mallowbanks 
ham  and  Mallowbanks  turkey,  and  Mallow- 
banks  artichokes  and  mince  meat,  and  we  had 
talked  and  laughed  and  sung  and  danced,  and 
bowed  and  scraped,  and  shaken  hands  and 
kissed,  and  at  last  it  was  all  over.  Even  my 
darling  Annie  Laurie  and  my  little  Barbara 
were  gone.  And  then  I  went  up  to  my  own 
room  and  closed  and  bolted  the  door. 

Carin,  I  wept  and  wept.  I  was  happy, 
but  I  wept.     For,  someway,  after  all,  this  was 


116         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

not  my  life.  It  was  not  the  silver  web  I  meant 
to  weave.  It  was  something  that  was  being 
woven  for  me,  and  I  was  only  a  quite  nice 
little  yellow  spider  sitting  in  the  midst  of  it 
and  being  admired  without  doing  a  single 
bit  of  spinning. 

It  was  not  at  all  what  I  had  planned  for 
myself.  I  am  doing  a  great  deal  of  receiving 
and  little  or  no  giving,  and  it  makes  me 
dissatisfied. 

Of  course  I  give  some  happiness  to  grand- 
mother, and  a  new  responsibility  to  Uncle 
David  and  Aunt  Lorena.  But  what  of  my 
vocation?  What  of  all  the  things  I  learned  to 
do  with  these  two  hands  of  mine?  What  of  the 
friendships  I  made  with  humble  people  and 
needy  ones?  What  of  all  the  good  I  w^as  going 
to  do  in  the  world? 

Carin,  I  am  very  happy.  You  mustn't  think 
anything  else.  But  I  have  cried  a  tremendous 
lot,  and  I'm  going  to  cry  when  I  feel  like  it. 
And  by  and  by  I  shall  do  something.  It  will 
not  be  liked  very  well  at  Mallowbanks  —  at 
least,  not  at  first.  But  we  have  to  be  our  true 
selves,  don't  we?  Don't  we  owe  that  to  —  well 
I  don't  know  just  Whom  or  What  we  owe  it 


MY  BALL  117 

to.  But  we  are  made  so  much  ourselves  that 
to  be  anything  other  than  ourselves  is  to  offend 
what  Kipling  calls  the  God  of  Things  as 
They  Are. 

Dear  me,  am  I  too  serious?  I,  who  have 
been  making  an  art  of  gayety?  I  can  talk 
nonsense  endlessly,  and  I  rather  like  to  do  it. 
It  excites  me.  I  feel  like  a  young  colt  when 
it  gets  the  bit  in  its  teeth  and  whips  off  down 
the  road.  Then,  if  the  person  I  am  talking 
with,  feels  the  same  way,  and  the  two  of  us 
dare  the  other  to  see  who  can  run  away  the 
hardest  —  as  Mr.  Vance  Grevy  does,  for 
example  —  then  I  enjoy  myself  very  much 
indeed.  Running  away  is,  I  can  see,  very 
pleasant  for  a  time. 

But  after  all,  I  am  not  of  a  nature  to  run 
very  far.  I  can  always  be  trusted  to  come 
home  and  stand  beside  the  hitching  post.  It's 
my  way.  I'm  dependable  old  Azalea  after 
all,  and  however  rattle-brained  I  may  sound, 
you  can  count  on  me  to  sober  down  at  the 
critical  moment.  I'm  still,  Carin,  right  beside 
the  hitching  post. 

The  only  thing  I  insist  on  is  being  hitched 
up    to    my   own    post.      And    I    don't    believe 


118         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

Mallowbanks  is  it.  It's  a  carved,  historic, 
marvelous  post.  But  is  it  mine?  Well,  I'll  not 
think   any  more   just   now. 

Father  and  Mother  McBirney  write  con- 
tented letters  from  Bethal  Springs.  People 
have  been  very  nice  to  them  and  they  are  not 
lonely.  Father  is  doing  well  and  feels  some 
loosening  up  of  his  "j'ints."  Mother  is  sewing 
for  somebody's  baby.  Trust  her  to  find  some- 
one who  needs  her.  If  she  was  set  down 
in  a  desert  you'd  probably  find  her  nursing 
a  sick  scorpion.  I'm  going  up  to  see  them 
soon. 

Jim  is  studying  his  head  off  at  Rutherford 
Academy  and  has  started  a  Young  Men's 
Christian  Association  there.  Dear  Jim!  Who 
would  have  thought  he  could  have  turned  so 
good?  Jim  who  used  to  put  little  green  snakes 
in  my  closet! 

Carin,  when  I  see  you,  if  I  ever  do,  I  will 
tell  you  more  about  the  ball.  It  was  simply 
grand. 

But  don't  you  just  wish  we  were  riding  up 
old  Mount  Tennyson  side  by  side,  with  the 
crickets  singing  in  the  grass,  and  the  saddles 
going  creak-creak? 


MY  BALL  119 

Carin,  I  believe  I'm  going  to  cry  again. 

Good-bye, 

Azalea 

P.  S.  There,  I  told  you!  See  that  blob? 
That  was  the  first  tear.  Keefe  O'Connor 
writes  me  stately  letters.  He  says  he  is  glad 
I  have  come  into  friends  and  fortune.  What 
does  he  mean  by  that?  Is  he  going  to  drop 
me?  Carin,  he  is.  He's  that  kind  of  a  horrid 
person  who  can't  forgive  one  for  prosperity. 
They'll  stand  by  you  in  adversity  but  not  in 
prosperity.  I'd  just  as  soon  be  cut  for  one  as 
the  other,  every  bit,  wouldn't  you? 

A.  McB.     No,  I  mean  A.  K. 


CHAPTER  VII 

GETTING  SETTLED 

Mallowbanks,   December   10th. 
Carin,  my  love: 

I  hear  you  are  to  go  home  for  Christmas 
and  that  all  of  your  family  will  be  together 
at  the  Shoals.  I  wish  I  could  be  with  you, 
but  I  must  be  here,  of  course,  and  I  suppose 
that  if  I  were  to  be  with  you,  I  should  be 
longing  to  be  at  Mallowbanks.  That  isn't 
because  I  am  discontented,  but  only  that  there 
are  so  many  beautiful  places  in  the  world 
where  I  would  like  to  be,  that  I  find  it  diffi- 
cult to  choose. 

I  often  think  what  a  lucky  thing  it  is  that 
a  person  is  born  in  a  certain  spot  and  is  under 
the  impression  that  she  has  to  stay  there.  If 
we  were  allowed  to  flutter  around  over  the 
earth  before  we  were  born,  trying  to  decide 
whom  we  would  have  for  parents  and  where 
we  would  live,  what  a  state  of  indecision  we 
should   be   in! 

120 


GETTING  SETTLED  121 

But  here  I  am,  with  my  own  grandmother, 
in  the  home  of  my  ancestors,  making  Christmas 
presents,  and  having  —  Oh,  astonishing  fact! — • 
all  the  money  I  want  to  spend  on  them.  But 
I'm  not  buying  things.  I  mean  I'm  not  buying 
already-done  things  to  any  great  extent.  I  am 
making  them.  I  want  my  loved  ones  to  realize 
that  it  is  still  love  that  I  am  sending  them, 
and  not  just  a  sign  and  token  of  my  prosperity. 

There  are  all  the  Carsons  and  all  the 
McBirneys  and  all  the  Summerses  and  all  the 
Kitchells  and  all  the  Paces  and  all  the  Rowan- 
trees,  to  make  things  for.  Of  course  I  count 
Keefe  in  with  the  Rowantrees,  though  I'm  not 
sure  he  would  like  to  have  me. 

Speaking  of  Keefe,  I  wrote  him  a  letter  and 
told  him  what  I  thought  of  him. 

"  Keefe,"  I  wrote,  "  you  are  haughty.  How 
have  I  come  to  fall  in  your  esteem?  Why 
am  I^uddenly  '  Miss  Knox '  instead  of  Azalea. 
Do  you  think  I  ought  to  suffer  a  steady  average 
of  trouble,  and  because  I  have  found  my  people 
and  my  fortune,  are  you  going  to  make  me 
miserable  by  turning  against  me?  What  harm 
does  it  do  the  world  if  I  am  happy?  " 

He  wrote  back   at  once,   of   course.     If   he 


122         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

hadn't,  I  never  should  have  written  to  him 
again.     Never. 

He  said  he  had  no  idea  he  had  the  pov^er 
to  make  me  unhappy. 

I  wrote  back  and  asked  him  since  when 
had  he  stopped  telling  the  truth.  And  I  said 
I  could  see  he  was  looking  around  for  ways 
of  discontinuing  our  friendship,  and  that  at 
first  I  had  been  rather  stupid  and  hadn't  seen 
what  he  was  trying  to  do.  But  now  I  under- 
stood, and  naturally,  I  would  protest  no  more. 

Then  I  got  a  letter  from  him  which  —  well, 
which  changed  everything.  He  said  he  had 
not  been  sure  but  that  I  meant  to  enter  upon 
a  new  life  altogether,  and  if  I  had,  he  did  not 
mean  to  stand  in  the  way.  He  said  we  had 
been  thrown  together  by  accident  and  that  he 
had  forced  his  acquaintance  upon  you  and  me, 
and  that  we  had  been  endlessly  kind  to  him, 
but  he  did  not  mean  to  take  advantage  of  that 
kindness,  but  that  if  I  wished  to  continue  our 
friendship  upon  the  old  basis  that  it  would 
make  all  the  difference  in  the  world  to  him; 
that  he  had  had  no  heart  for  work  or  life 
since  the  idea  had  come  to  him  that  he  ought 
to  let  our  friendship  go  in  justice  to  me. 


GETTING  SETTLED  123 

Well,  of  course  I  had  guessed  from  the 
first  that  all  the  trouble  came  from  some 
absurd  idea  like  that! 

So  I  wrote  him  that  my  friendships  did  not 
depend  on  the  state  of  the  money  market.  But 
I  didn't  say,  Carin,  that  I  would  rather  talk 
with  him  than  anyone  I  ever  met  (except  you, 
sister  of  my  heart).  Perhaps  he  will  never 
know  that.  He  said  he  would  love  to  come 
down  and  see  me,  but  that,  to  be  quite  frank, 
he  couldn't  afford  it  just  now. 

That  reminded  me  of  an  old  idea  of  mine. 
So  that  night  I  said  to  grandmother: 

"  Don't  you  think,  madam  grandmother,  that 
you  ought  to  have  a  portrait  painted  of  your- 
self as  you  are  now?  " 

"  I?  "  cried  my  grandmother.  "  At  my  age! 
Why,  my  dear,  I  am  hideous!  A  wrinkled, 
Vv'hite-headed,  shriveled  old  woman!  What  do 
I  want  of  a  portrait?  " 

Then  she  arose  and  said  as  she  often  does: 

*'  Your  arm,  Azalea,  if  you  please." 

So  I  gave  her  my  arm,  guessing  that  she 
was  going  once  more  to  show  me  the  portraits 
of  herself  in  the  paneled  hall.  And  sure 
enough  she  did. 


124         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

"  This,"  she  said,  stopping  before  the  first 
one,  "  was  by  the  greatest  portrait  painter  in  the 
South.  At  the  time  he  painted  me  I  was 
eighteen  and  already  engaged  to  your  father  — 
your  grandfather,  I  mean.  I  should  not  like 
to  have  you  repeat  it,  but  the  painter  fell 
desperately  in  love  with  me,  my  dear  —  des- 
perately. Painters  always  fall  in  love  with 
one,  I  fancy.  That  is  why  the  picture  has  a 
slightly  unfinished  appearance.  He  left  before 
he   had   quite   completed   it." 

"  Poor  man,"  said  L 

"  Ah,  I  dare  say  he  recovered.  These  loves 
that  are  founded  on  mere  admiration  amount 
to  but  little.     We  will  proceed,  if  you  please." 

I  led  her  on  to  the  next  portrait  of  herself. 

''  This,"  she  said,  quite  as  if  she  had  not 
told  me  the  same  things  half  a  dozen  times 
before,  ''  was  done  by  an  English  artist  just 
after  my  Jack  was  born.  I  wanted  him  to 
paint  it  with  my  little  David  sitting  at  my 
feet  and  my  Jack  in  my  arms,  but  he  was  not 
in  favor  of  it.  He  said  he  preferred  to  paint 
me  by  myself.  For  one  thing,  he  considered 
me  too  small  to  paint  with  such  fine  large  sons. 
He  said  it  made  me  look  ridiculous.     But  I 


GETTING  SETTLED  125 

truly  think,  Azalea,  that  he  did  not  regard  me 
as  motherly  enough.  I  know  I  was  and  am  a 
vain  woman.  But  my  vanity,  my  dear,  is  only 
skin  deep  —  only  skin  deep.  It  is  a  manner, 
nothing  more.  In  my  time  it  was  fashionable 
for  girls  in  my  class  to  act  as  if  they  were 
self-indulged  and  vain.  But  in  reality  —  "  she 
paused,  and  stood  out  before  me,  and  I  saw 
there  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  her  face 
grew  tender  and  quiet  —  "in  reality,  my 
dear  granddaughter,  my  motherhood  was  more 
to  me  than  anything  else." 

She  drooped  her  head  down  among  the  laces 
on  her  gown,  and  I  heard  her  say  under  her 
breath : 

"  I  have  almost  died  of  it! '' 

I  put  my  arm  around  her  and  drew  her 
close  to  me  —  such  a  tiny  creature  as  she  is! 

"  Little  madam  grandmother,"  I  v/hispered, 
"  come  back  to  the  fire,  and  I  will  make  some 
tea.  Then  perhaps  you  will  tell  me  a  story. 
I  love  your  stories  very,  very  much." 

She  straightened  up  again,  calling  on  her 
courage  and  her  pride. 

"  But  there  is  one  more  portrait  which  I 
wish  to  show  you,  my  dear.     It  was  done  by 


126         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

a  celebrated  South  American  when  I  was  just 
turned  forty  —  my  autumnal  picture,  I  call  it. 
Here  I  am,  in  my  spring,  in  my  summer,  in 
my  autumn." 

She  smiled  up  at  me  suddenly. 

"  And  now,  I  suppose,  you  wish  me  to  round 
out  my  year,  and  have  my  winter  picture 
painted?  Well,  I  can  provide  the  snow."  She 
touched  her  silver  hair  with  her  wrinkled  hand. 

"  Dear  grandmother,"  I  said  right  out  from 
the  heart,  "you  are  quite  right.  It  needs  the 
beautiful  winter  picture  to  complete  the  set." 

We  went  back  to  the  fire  then  and  she  sat 
thinking  while  I  made  the  tea.  At  last  she 
spoke. 

•'  Do  you  chance  to  know  anyone  who  is 
particularly  well  adapted  to  painting  such  a 
portrait,  Azalea?  For,  mind  you,  it  will  no 
longer  be  the  picture  of  a  beautiful  woman; 
it  will  be  what  is  far  harder  to  paint,  the 
record  of  a  character.  For  every  wrinkle  tells 
its  story,  if  only  one  is  wise  enough  to  read, 
and  though  my  eyes  are  old,  they  still  have 
their  revelations  to  make,  my  dear.  Who  looks 
in  them  can  read  the  book  of  experience 
there." 


GETTING  SETTLED  127 

"  I  think  I  know  such  an  artist,  ma'am,"  I 
said.  "  He  has  painted  many  portraits  recently 
and  has  had  much  praise  for  them.  His  name 
is  Keefe  O'Connor." 

"  Keefe  O'Connor,"  she  said  musingly. 
"  Do  you  know  him  personally,  Azalea?  But 
I  think  I  have  heard  you  say  so." 

"  He  is  the  brother  of  my  dear  Mary  Cecily 
Rowantree,"  I  said. 

"  Oh,  yes,  the  Rowantrees  of  Rowantree 
Hall!" 

She  never  forgets  that  the  Rowantrees  are 
of  Rowantree  Hall.  You  and  I  love  the  ram- 
shackle old  place  so  that  we  forget  what  a 
grand  name  it  has.  Grandmother,  I  suppose, 
thinks  of  it  as  a  magnificent  ancestral  estate. 
What  would  she  say  if  she  could  see  that  the 
gallery,  instead  of  being  supported  by  pillars, 
is  held  up  by  barked  chestnut  logs,  and  that 
there  never  has  been  a  second  coat  of  paint  on 
the  place.  Ugh,  how  the  wind  can  blow 
through  those  unfinished  rooms!  I  sometimes 
think  it  is  the  most  uncomfortable  place  I  ever 
"vv^as  in.  A  little  mountain  cabin  is  twenty  times 
as  w^arm  and  cosy  in  the  winter  time. 

I  would  have  liked  to  have  told  grandmother 


128         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

all  this,  but  I  knew  it  would  be  fatal ;  that  if  I 
did,  she  would  just  set  the  Rowantrees  down 
as  people  I  ought  not  to  know,  so  I  said  noth- 
ing.    By  and  by  she  remarked : 

"  Have  you  any  idea  of  the  prices  of  your 
friend's  portraits?  " 

Again  I  knew  that  I  must  mention  a  good 
price  to  make  her  respect  him,  so  I  said: 

"  I  think  he  would  paint  your  portrait, 
grandmother,  for  a  thousand  dollars.  And  we 
could  entertain  him,  I  suppose?  That  would 
make  it  so  much  more  agreeable,  wouldn't  it?  " 

"  Oh,  we  would  entertain  him,  certainly," 
said  grandmother.  "  We  have  a  room  built 
especially  for  studio  purposes.  I  believe  you 
never  have  seen  it.  It  is  in  the  west  wing,  and 
faces  north.  There  is  a  bedroom  attached.  It 
always  has  been  the  custom  of  the  Knoxes 
to  have  their  portraits  painted  in  the  house  and 
by   someone   wnth   whom    they   were    in    daily 

r 

association.  Such  intercourse  assists  in  the 
understanding  so  necessary  to  the  production 
of  a  good  likeness." 

So  I  asked  her  if  I  had  her  permission  to 
write  to  Keefe,  and  she  said  yes.  I  have 
written  him. 


GETTING  SETTLED  129 

No  more  for  the  present,  Carln. 

By  the  way,  was  I  rather  down-in-the-mouth 
in  my  last  letter?  Please  forget  about  it.  I 
suppose  it  was  only  a  spell  of  homesickness. 
Seeing  so  many  strangers  and  being  expected 
to  like  them  all,  and  to  act  as  if  I  always 
had  known  them,  rather  upset  me. 

But  as  I  said,  no  more  at  present. 

I  do  wish  you  could  see  the  room  I  call  my 
Christmas  room.  It  used  to  be  a  sort  of  morn- 
ing room,  but  no  one  sits  in  it  any  more,  so  I 
have  a  work  table  in  there,  and  my  sewing 
machine  and  embroidery  frame  and  my  pyrog- 
raphy  outfit,  and  my  photographic  stufi,  and  I 
am  working  early  and  late.  Of  course  I  inter- 
rupt myself  to  do  whatever  Aunt  Lorena  or 
grandmother  w^ish  me  to.  And  people  call, 
and  I  return  calls,  and  there  are  little  parties. 
But  I  like  best  to  be  working.  Outside  the 
window  are  honey  locust  trees,  and  they  are 
very  lovely  even  when  stripped  of  their  leaves. 
In  the  distance,  on  a  hill,  is  a  group  of  dark 
hemlock,  and  now  that  the  sky  is  gray,  they 
look  particularly  solemn.  I  have  a  fireplace 
in  my  Christmas  room,  and  young  James  keeps 
it  so  that  I  need  never  be  without  a  blazing 


130         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

hearth.  My  wood  box  is  simply  heaped.  There 
are  apples  on  my  table,  and  a  funny  old  writ- 
ing desk  stands  in  the  corner.  It  is  a  terribly 
messed  up  room,  and  I  love  it.  Not  that  I'm 
really  disorderly.  You  wouldn't  say  I  w^as  dis- 
orderly, would  you,  Carin?  Come,  nowM  No, 
I  believe  I  like  it  because  I  have  made  it 
myself.  I  have  in  it  w^hat  I  can  use.  I  am 
living  in  it.  In  the  other  rooms  I  only  look 
on;  and  that,  emphatically,  is  not  living. 
No  more  for  the  present!    I  mean  it! 

Azalea 

*A  A  A  A  A  .'V.  -"V- 

"9^  vft  'SfZ  Vft  TfC  Tfe  "^TT 

Glidden  Siding,  December  24th. 

Merry,  merry  Christmas,  dear  Carin.  Dear 
old  friend,  such  a  merry  Christmas  to  you! 

I  am  sitting  here  in  the  station,  having  come 
from  Bethal  Springs  on  the  queerest  little  train 
ever  you  saw,  and  I  am  waiting  for  the  train 
that  is  to  take  me  home.  It  is  cold,  and  I 
think  it  is  going  to  rain.  Seeing  that  I  do  not 
expect  to  reach  home  till  after  dark,  this 
sounds  a  bit  dismal.  Semmy  is  with  me.  I 
wrote  you  about  Greenville  Female  Seminary 
Simms,   didn't   I?     I  wanted   to   travel   alone, 


GETTING  SETTLED  131 

of  course,  but  neither  Aunt  Lorena  nor  grand- 
mother would  hear  of  it. 

I  have  just  asked  Semmy  where  she  got  her 
name,  and  she  tells  me  that  her  mother  was  a 
"  pore  misfortunate  so't  of  a  woman  who  nevah 
did  git  on  in  de  worl'  nohow.  An'  jes'  befo' 
Ah  was  bo'n,  she  went  fo'  to  wuk  in  de  Green- 
ville Female  Sem'nary.  An'  theah  dey  was 
dat  good  to  heh,  dat  she  neveh  did  see!  Yas- 
sum,  dey  jes'  cheered  heh  along  and  heartened 
heh  up,  an'  nussed  heh,  and  when  de  baby 
come  —  that  was  me  —  dey  gave  heh  a  whole 
set  of  clo's.  An'  ma  she  jes'  had  a  change  of 
heart.  Yassum.  She  jes'  made  up  heh  mind 
dat  she  wa'n't  goin'  to  be  downcas'  no  moah. 
She  might  'a'  been  misfortunate,  but  dat  didn't 
keep  de  worl'  f'om  havin'  any  numbah  o' 
good,  kind  folk  in  it.  No'um.  So  she  named 
heh  baby  fo'  the  Sem'nary,  she  did,  sho' 
'nough,  and  she  was  glad  of  it  to  de  las'  day 
of  heh  life.  And  Ah  was  glad  of  it  too. 
Greenville  Female  Sem'nary  Simms  shore  am 
a  fine  name." 

******** 
Well,    Fve    been    down    to   see    Father    and 


132         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

Mother  McBirney.  I  couldn't  let  Christmas 
go  by  without  visiting  them,  could  I,  Carin? 
I  went  down  on  the  twentieth,  and  had  three 
whole  days  with  them,  and  a  Christmas  cele- 
bration of  the  happiest  sort 

The  two  dears  were  down  to  meet  me  at 
the  train,  and  they  took  me  up  to  their  little 
cottage,  which  is  in  the  pine  woods,  with  a 
very  pleasant  vista  which  shows  them  the  river 
and  the  river  road,  and  though  they  are  far 
enough  from  the  road  to  be  quiet,  they  can 
see  the  people  coming  and  going.  Mother 
wheels  Father  to  the  springs  twice  every  day, 
and  that  gives  them  little  excursions  and  helps 
to  pass  the  time.  Father  McBirney  says  the 
waters  are  benefiting  him,  so  that  he  has 
hardly  any  pain  at  all  now.  I  can  see  for 
myself  that  the  swelling  is  going  down  in  his 
joints.  The  only  thing  is  he  can  not  walk 
steadily  yet,  and  then  only  a  short  distance. 

Oh,  Carin,  maybe  it  wasn't  fun  to  go  to 
them  with  a  big  trunkful  of  things  they 
needed!  I  had  a  suit  for  Father  McBirney, 
and  a  suit  for  Jim,  and  a  fine  Scotch  wool 
dress  for  dear  Mother,  and  a  knitted  jacket  for 
her  for  common,  and  a  fine  soft  black  coat  for 


GETTING  SETTLED  133 

best,  and  gloves  and  stockings  and  warm  under- 
wear, and  pretty  curtains  for  the  windows, 
and  a  turkey  which  Aunt  Lorena  sent,  and  a 
barrel  of  flour  and  one  of  apples  from  Uncle 
David,  and  some  foot  warmers  and  a  coffee 
percolator  from  grandmother,  and  various 
small  things  too  numerous  to  mention  from 
all  of  us. 

Then  along  in  the  afternoon  of  the  day  that 
I  got  there,  Jim  came  over  from  Rutherford 
College,  and  so  we  four  were  all  together 
again.  Yes,  Carin  dear,  there  we  sat  in  the 
little  strange  room  and  looked  at  each  other, 
and  thought  of  all  we  had  gone  through 
together,  and  how  we  loved  each  other,  and 
yet  — 

And  yet,  we  knew,  each  and  every  one  of 
us,  that  my  path  and  theirs  had  begun  to  part. 
Yes,  we  knew  it.  They  felt  a  little  differently 
toward  me,  and  I  felt  a  little  differently  toward 
them.  But  that  didn't  keep  me  from  loving 
my  McBirneys. 

Jim  had  a  thousand  things  to  tell  me.  He 
has  been  studying  terribly  hard,  and  he  has 
made  some  good  friends,  and  is  full  of  noble, 
loving  ideas.     He  wants  me  to  be  a  missionary 


134         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

to  foreign  lands,  and  I'm  afraid  I  hurt  Mother 
McBirney's  feelings  a  little  when  I  laughed 
at  him. 

"  Do  I  look  like  a  missionary,  Jim?  "  I  asked 
him.     But  he  insisted  on  being  serious. 

"  If  you  have  the  heart  of  a  missionary," 
he  said,  "  that  will  be  all  that  is  necessary. 
Your  looks  don't  matter  a  particle,  Zalie." 

The  way  he  said  it,  you  would  have  thought 
I  was  something  frightful  to  look  at,  but  that 
it  might  be  lived  down. 

"  I  want  very  much  to  help  my  neighbors 
along,"  I  said,  "  and  to  be  helped  by  them,  I 
hope,  but  to  go  to  a  foreign  country  and  set 
up  my  ideas  against  theirs  doesn't  appeal  to  me 
personally.     You'll  have  to  excuse  me,  Jim." 

After  a  little  while  he  got  off  his  religious 
themes  and  w^as  just  good  old  jolly  Jim,  and 
then  we  had  a  fine  time.  For  I  confess  that  I 
felt  a  little  strange  with  him  when  he  talked 
religion.  We  made  candy  together  —  nut 
candy  —  and  we  popped  corn,  and  got  the 
supper,  and  played  chess,  and  had  prayers  and 
went  to  bed.  And  the  next  two  days  were  like 
unto   this   day. 

Only,  of  course,  we  had  our  Christmas  feast. 


GETTING  SETTLED  135 

They  insisted  on  cooking  the  turkey  and  all 
the  other  good  things  while  I  was  there,  so 
that  took  a  good  deal  of  work,  as  you  may 
imagine.  But  it  was  great  fun,  too.  The 
little  cottage  reeked  with  delicious  odors,  and 
it  was  charming  to  see  with  its  new  curtains 
and  the  walls  all  trimmed  with  bittersweet 
and  holly,  and  the  pine  knots  burning  in  the 
fireplace. 

Then,  this  morning,  Semmy  and  I  left. 

"  Don't  forget  us,  Zalie,  don't  forget  us," 
dear  Ma  McBirney  said  when  I  kissed  her 
good-bye. 

"  Never  while  life  lasts,  dear,"  I  told  her. 
"  Never  while  I  have  any  brain  to  remember 
with." 

"  I'm  grateful  to  you,  Zalie,"  Pa  told  me, 
shaking  my  hand  till  it  ached.  "  You've  given 
me  comfort  and  peace,  girl,  and  there  ain't  a 
day  or  a  night  I  don't  thank  you." 

"  Pa,"  said  I,  "  it's  hard  getting  even  with 
you  and  Ma,  but  I'm  going  to  do  it  if  I  can." 

Jim  took  me  down  to  the  station  and  told 
me  he  hoped  to  be  a  credit  to  me,  and  that  he 
never  forgot  that  he  owed  his  education  to 
me,  and  he  hoped  I  wouldn't  become  worldly. 


136         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

"Jim,  you  old  silly,"  I  said  to  him,  "I'm 
just  as  worldly  as  I  can  be.  I  simply  love 
the  old  world." 

"  That,  Zalie,  is  not  what  I  mean,  and  you 
know  it." 

"  Don't  lecture  me,  Jim,"  I  warned  him, 
"  or  it  will  make  me  more  and  more  frivolous. 
Just  leave  me  alone  and  I'll  work  out  my  own 
salvation." 

But  he  said  he  would  pray  for  me.  He 
looked  so  dignified  that  I  didn't  dare  remind 
him  of  those  little  green  snakes  he  used  to  put 
in  my  closet.  There's  no  doubt  about  it;  Jim 
is  getting  ministerial  already.  Growing  up  is 
a  queer  thing,  isn't  it,  Carin?  Little  freckled 
Jim  trying  to  make  a  foreign  missionary 
out  of  me! 

To-morrow  we  shall  have  a  great  celebra- 
tion at  Mallowbanks.  There  are  to  be  some 
"  kin  "  present,  of  course,  and  we  are  to  have 
a  tree  and  a  great  dinner  and  in  the  evening  a 
sing  around  the  fire.  I  am  to  sing  for  them, 
alone,  at  grandmother's  request,  and  I  have 
been  rehearsing.  I  wish  I  had  a  voice  like 
Annie  Laurie,  rich  and  full  like  a  robin,  or  a 
thrush-like  voice  such  as  your  mother  has.     I 


GETTING  SETTLED  137 

don't  think  much  of  my  voice,  and  I  wish 
they  wouldn't  ask  me  to  sing.  But  I'll  do 
my  best,  and  I  have  some  lovely  songs.  Aunt 
Lorena  plays  my  accompaniments. 

There,  I  hear  the  train  coming! 

How  good  it  will  be  to  get  out  of  this 
stufify  little  station.  The  light  is  so  dim  I  can 
hardly  see.  But  why  should  I  fret?  In  two 
hours  I  shall  be  in  Mallowbanks,  my  own 
home.  My  own!  And  I  know  now,  Carin, 
that  it  will  be  a  pretty  fine  thing  to  go  up  to 
my  own  room  and  feel  that  I  possess  it,  and 
to  sit  at  supper  with  my  own  people.  Yes, 
Carin,  I  realize  it  more  to-night  than  ever 
before. 

And,  dear  me,  I  shan't  get  in  bed  till  after 
midnight,  I  know,  with  so  many  Christmas 
presents  to  do  up  and  label  and  all.  I'm  tying 
everything  with  corn-colored  ribbon  and  it 
looks  very  pretty.  The  little  presentation  cards 
have  daffodils  on  them.  Don't  you  like  dainty 
things   like   that? 

"  It  is  all  very  silly,"  said  Preacher  Jim  to 
me.  "  This  money  should  have  gone  to  the 
poor." 

"  Jim,"  said  I,  "  it  is  going  to  the  poor.     For 


138         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

everybody  in  the  world  is  poor.  Everybody 
needs  help.  Some  need  money,  but  more  need 
love,  and  all  this  silliness  is  just  a  girl's  way 
of  showing  love." 

"  Humph!  "  said  Jim. 

Isn't  he  funny,  Carin?  Who  would  have 
dreamed  he  would  be  so  solemn? 

I  do  hope  you'll  like  what  I've  sent  you; 
and  I'm  wild  to  get  home  and  find  your 
package  for  me. 

And  Oh,  Oh,  if  there  isn't  one,  what  an 
Indignant  Person  I  shall  be!  But  there  will 
be,  for  when  have  you  or  your  darling  parents 
forgotten  me? 

A  thousand  Christmas  greetings  to  you  all. 
There  is  no  joy  I  do  not  wish  you.  Salute  your 
hearthstone  for  me. 

Lovingly, 

Azalea 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  PORTRAIT 

Mallowbanks,  January  fifth. 
Carin,  my  own  one: 

Mallowbanks  is  entertaining  an  artist  —  a 
painter  of  portraits.  His  name  is  Keefe 
O'Connor;  his  residence  is  New  York.  He 
was  wired  for  imperatively  by  Madam  Knox 
who  offered  him  more  for  the  painting  of  her 
portrait  than  he  had  previously  received  for 
any  such  commission.  Telegrams  were 
exchanged.  The  artist,  it  appeared,  was  much 
engaged.  Madam  Knox  wished  more  than 
ever  to  secure  him.  She  increased  her  offer. 
He  came  —  he  is  here  in  "the  artist's  suite." 
Madam  Knox  sits  to  him  in  gray  velvet  and 
pearls.  Her  hair  is  as  white  as  the  drifted 
snow;  her  eyebrows  are  dark  and  pointed,  her 
little  mouth  looks  secret  and  proud,  her  aristo- 
cratic nose  is  a  straight  line,  her  old,  beautiful 
eyes  are  full  of  vanity  and  wisdom,  sternness 

139 


140         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

and  kindness,  memories  and  hopes.  She  is 
very  wrinkled  and  very  beautiful.  The 
portrait  painter  appears  to  be  in  raptures, 
and  he  works  early  and  late  and  is  growing 
hollow-eyed.  My  own  conviction  is  that  he 
does  not  eat  enough  nor  sleep  very  well. 
Semmy  seems  to  think  he  has  a  secret  sorrow. 

"Miss  Zalie,"  said  she  to  me  —  she  learned 
to  call  me  Zalie  from  the  McBirneys  —  "that 
theah  painter  man  has  somethin'  gnawin'  him, 
suah." 

The  painter  man  avoids  me.  When  I  come 
near,  he  goes  —  as  soon  as  politeness  permits. 
I  retire  to  my  room  and  read  his  assurances 
of  friendship ;  I  remember  my  own,  and  wonder 
if  my  imagination  is  not  running  away  with 
me.  But  no  —  he  avoids  me.  The  other  day, 
however,  we  were  left  together  at  the  breakfast 
table  and  conversation  became  absolutely  neces- 
sary.    What  he  said  was: 

"  How  changed  you  are,  Miss  Azalea." 

"  And  you  don't  like  the  change,  Mr.  — 
Keefe?" 

"  My  liking  or  disliking  it  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the  case,"  he  answered  gloomily.  "  I 
repeat,  you  are  changed." 


THE  PORTRAIT  141 

"  Yes,"  I  admitted.  "  I  have  changed  a 
number  of  times  in  the  course  of  my  life,  but 
so,  I  suppose,  have  others." 

"  Yes." 

"  Should  you  say  I  had  changed  for  the 
worse  or  the  better?  " 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  better  or  worse. 
You  wrote  me  that  you  were  the  same  old 
Azalea,  but  I  do  not  find  you  so.  Why,  how 
meek  you  used  to  be!  " 

"Meek!  I  never  was!  I  wouldn't  be! 
Meek!" 

''  When  I  think  of  you  teaching  those 
mountain  children  so  lovingly,  going  around 
in  your  little  pink  sunbonnet,  chatting  by  the 
hour  with  Mrs.  Medicine  Bottle  — what  was 
her  name?  —  and  look  at  you  as  you  are  now, 
and  hear  you  talk  as  you  do  now  —  " 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  I  said.  "  I  will  withdraw 
my  presence  and  my  voice." 

So  I  did.  I  ran  up  to  my  room,  and  I  found 
that  pink  gingham  I  used  to  wear  up  at  Sunset 
Gap,  and  the  funny  little  sunbonnet  you  used 
to  think  too  becoming  for  a  school-teacher. 
I  put  on  the  pink  dress,  though  it  was  halfway 
up  to  my  knees;  I  let  my  hair  down  my  back 


142         AZALEA'S  SILVEPv  WEB 

in  braids,  and  pulled  the  sunbonnet  over  it. 
Then  I  waited  till  I  knew  grandmother  was 
sitting  for  her  painter  and  I  got  Semmy  to 
go  down  and  knock  on  the  door  and  call  Mr. 
Painter  out  for  a  minute. 

In  that  minute  I  ran  in,  kissed  madam 
grandmother  and  bribed  her  to  get  behind  a 
screen,  and  when  our  portrait  painter  returned, 
I  was  on  the  dais  looking  as  demure  as  a  kitten. 

He  came  in  looking  at  a  letter  Semmy  had 
given  him,  and  said: 

"  Will  you  pardon  me,  ma'am,  for  one 
moment? "  He  glanced  through  his  letter. 
Then  he  bowed,  and  took  up  his  brushes  again. 
That  was  when  he  saw  me.  He  gave  a  sort 
of  a  gasp  and  broke  into  the  good  old,  beauti- 
ful smile  we  used  to  see  on  him  up  at  Sunset 
Gap. 

"  Azalea!  "  he  cried. 

Then  he  frowned. 

"  I  do  not  like  to  paint  a  person  In  mas- 
querade," he  said. 

"  But  this,"  I  said,  "  Is  a  return  to  type." 

He  still  frowned. 

''Perhaps  you  don't  like  the  type?" 

He  did  not  answer. 


THE  PORTRAIT  143 

"  Are  we  keeping  Madam  Knox  waiting?  " 
he  asked. 

I  dropped  a  curtsy  and  found  grandmother 
behind  the  screen.  She  too,  was  looking  not 
particularly  well  pleased. 

I  kissed  her  again  and  helped  her  up  to 
her  chair. 

"  Grandmother,"  I  explained,  "  was  not  a 
party  to  the  deception  which  has  moved  you  to 
such  violent  rage,  Mr.  O'Connor.  She  was 
taken  by  storm;  was  overcome  by  force  of 
arms  and  a  superior  enemy.  I  withdraw.  I 
never  did  see  why  anybody  wanted  to  go  to 
the  Arctic  regions." 

I  curtsied  again  —  twice  —  once  to  grand- 
mother and  once  to  him.  They  both  looked 
sulky.  I  got  into  my  riding  habit,  called  for 
Sally  McLean,  the  darling  little  mare  they 
let  me  use,  and  went  oflf  for  the  rest  of  the 
morning.  At  noon  I  found  myself  at  the 
house  of  a  Ravanel  —  Delight  Ravanel.  She 
is  a  spinster,  quite  wrinkled  and  rather 
depressed,  but  she  got  her  Christian  name 
when  she  gave  promise,  I  suppose,  of  other 
things.  She  asked  me  to  stay  to  luncheon.  I 
did,  and  found  her  a  dear.     She  told  me  stories 


144         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

about  who  married  whom  and  why.  She 
proved  to  me  that  I  was  some  sort  of  a  cousin 
of  hers.  It  was  the  middle  of  the  afternoon 
before  I  started  for  home. 

A  rain  had  set  in  and  the  roads  were  very 
muddy,  so  Sally  McLean  had  a  bad  time  of 
it.  She  is  such  a  dainty  thing  that  mud  makes 
her  miserable.  Besides,  she  was  shivering  with 
cold  and  nervousness,  though  I  can't  quite  see 
what  made  her  nervous.  But  Sally  has  her 
moods,  like  the  rest  of  us.  I  made  up  my 
mind,  however,  that  Paprika  was  the  last  horse 
that  was  ever  going  to  throw  me,  and  so  I 
gentled  poor  Sally,  and  made  my  way  along 
the  road  in  the  best  spirit  I  could  command. 
I  fell  to  thinking  about  little  Paprika,  and 
Jim's  Mustard,  and  how  we  used  to  scamper 
down  the  long  mountain  road  to  school,  and 
about  the  times  when  you  and  Annie  Laurie 
and  I  used  to  race  down  the  valley;  and  then 
I  thought  over  the  excursion  Haystack  Thomp- 
son and  Miss  Pace  and  Keefe  and  you  and 
I  made  with  Paralee  Panther  away  over  the 
nag  road  to  the  Panther's,  and  how  we  dug 
them  out  of  their  cave,  so  to  speak.  I  hear 
from   Paralee   quite  often,    by   the  way.      She 


THE  PORTRAIT  145 

is  teaching  now  in  the  Industrial  School.  Yes, 
she  is  really  a  teacher,  just  as  she  said  she 
would  be.  Of  course  that  is  owing  to  the 
start  you  gave  her,  Carin;  but  I'm  very  proud 
to  think  how  she  has  got  on.  She  has  been 
independent  of  all  help  for  two  years  at  least, 
hasn't  she?  Perhaps  she  has  written  you  about 
her  teacher's  position,  but  I  mention  it,  think- 
ing she  might  not  have  ventured  to  write.  She 
always  stood  in  some  awe  of  you,  you  were  so 
beautiful  and  so  far  removed  from  her. 

She  reminds  me,  someway,  of  those  people 
I  did  not  meet  in  the  little  cabin  that  lay 
between  Mount  Tennyson  and  Mount  Hebron 
—  the  cabin,  I  mean,  where  I  went  in  and 
helped  myself  to  soup  and  firewood,  and 
where  I  left  the  cake  and  sugar  and  things 
in  exchange.  I  told  you  Mother  McBirney 
met  them  afterward  and  learned  their  name. 
Wixon,  it  was,  by  the  way.  Well,  just  for 
fun,  I  sent  them  some  Christmas  presents  — 
nothing  really  sensible  and  necessary,  but 
something  perfectly  luxurious  —  a  talking 
machine  with  a  lot  of  records  of  various  kinds. 
Also  a  year's  subscription  to  a  good  magazine 
which  has  many  illustrations.     I  thought  these 


146         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

things  might  help  them  to  become  alive.  Oh,  it 
certainly  is  glorious  to  have  money! 

But  I  am  still  out  in  the  rain  on  Sally 
McLean's  back,  in  a  bad  fit  of  homesickness, 
am  I  not?  These  homesick  spells  do  not  come 
as  often  as  they  did  and  they  are  not  as  bad 
as  they  were,  but  still  I  have  them,  and  while 
they  last  I  am  miserable  enough.  I  could  feel 
my  tears  trickling  down  my  cold  nose,  but  I 
was  having  such  work  to  keep  Sally  on  her 
feet  that  I  couldn't  wipe  them  away.  I  sup- 
pose we  made  a  pathetic  pair,  struggling  along 
in  the  sodden  afternoon  in  that  friendless,  for- 
saken way.  (I'm  not  sure  but  Sally  was 
crying  too.     I  think  I  heard  her  sniffle.) 

Then,  just  as  we  were  in  the  worst  of  our 
dumps,  who  should  appear  on  the  landscape 
but  "a  solitary  horseman"!  He  was  riding 
Wellington,  a  tall,  elegant  looking  horse 
belonging  to  Uncle  David,  and  he  himself  — 
of  course  it  was  Keefe  —  looked  tall  and 
elegant,  too,  though  he  had  on  a  raincoat  and 
a  little  cap  which  fitted  close  to  his  head.  He 
didn't  seem  to  mind  the  rain,  but  rode  with 
his  face  turned  up  to  it  as  if  he  liked  it.  When 
he   saw  me   he   stopped    riding   that  way   and 


THE  PORTRAIT  147 

tried    to    look   as    commonplace    as    he    could. 

"  How  do  you  do?"  he  said  as  if  we  were 
not  very  well  acquainted  neighbors  meeting  by 
chance  on  the  road. 

"  Very  well,  thank  you,  Rain-in-the-Face." 

"You  are  angry  with  me!  You  have  been 
away  all  day  because  you  were  angry  with  me." 

"  I  fled,  Rain-in-the-Face,  from  the  Arctic 
chilliness  of  Mallowbanks.  I  have  in  my  time 
lived  among  strangers,  I  have  danced  and 
sung  to  stupid  audiences,  I  have  been  hungry 
and  wet  through  with  the  rain,  I  have  slept 
on  mouldy  straw  in  a  wretched  tent,  but  never 
was  I  so  chilled  as  to-day." 

"Azalea!" 

He  seemed  shocked. 

"  Do  you  mean,"  I  asked  him,  angry,  Carin, 
for  one  of  the  few  times  in  my  life,  "  that  I 
ought  not  to  mention  that  I  was  once  a  poor 
little  waif,  a  show  girl,  a  sad-hearted  dancer? 
Yes,  I  was  an  ill-cared  for,  shamed  little  Infant 
Phenomenon,  and  I  don't  care  who  knows  it. 
And  then  I  was  poor  Ma  McBirney's  beloved 
child,  and  I  took  the  place  to  her  of  her  little 
dead  daughter;  that  warmed  and  saved  me 
and    taught   me   love   and    faith,    and    I    don't 


148         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

care  who  knows  that,  either.  Then  I  was 
Carin  Carson's  friend,  and  we  worked  and 
learned  together,  and  you  saw  us,  and  you 
liked  me  as  I  was  then.  Now  I'm  Azalea 
Knox  of  Mallowbanks,  with  such  relatives 
and  acquaintances  as  Fate  has  given  me,  and 
I'm  grateful  and  proud  of  that,  too.  I  take 
all  as  it  comes,  Rain-in-the-Face,  and  I  cannot 
for  the  life  of  me  understand  what  you  are 
sulking  about." 

"  Am  I  sulking?  I  am  unhappy.  How 
could  you  change  so?  You  used  not  to  talk 
as  you  do  now,  nor  dress  as  you  do  now.  You 
asked  me  to  forgive  you  your  fortune  and 
your  place  in  the  world,  and  I  liked  it  and 
laughed  at  it  and  —  and  forgave  it.  Though 
it  was  hard.  But  still  I  didn't  want  to  come 
down  here.  I  fought  against  it.  I  had  too 
dear  a  memory  of  you.  Azalea,  to  want  to 
come  down  here  in  any  other  way  than  as 
your  lover,  and  I  knew  it  would  never  be  fair 
to  come  that  way  —  that  your  relatives  would 
object.  So  I  found  one  excuse  after  another 
for  not  coming,  but  your  grandmother  over- 
persuaded  me.  And  my  heart  out-argued  me, 
too.      I   had   to   come.     I   thought:     'All   the 


THE  PORTRAIT  149 

world  may  change,  but  she  never  will.  She 
will  be  the  same.'  But  you  aren't  —  you 
aren't!" 

"Are  you?"  I  retorted.  "Do  you  imagine 
for  a  moment,  Rain-in-the-Face,  that  after 
three  years  in  New  York  City,  making  your 
way  among  artists  and  other  clever,  charming 
people,  that  you  are  the  same  boy  who  went 
singing  over  Sunset  Gap?  You  are  not,  at  all. 
Now  you  are  not  afraid  to  be  rude  or  disagree- 
able or  masterful,  but  then  you  would  not  have 
been  one  of  those  things.    You  were  too  kind." 

"So  you   think  me  unkind?" 

"  Horribly." 

"  I    am   sorry." 

"  But   I'm   sorrier." 

"  What  can  I  do  to  make  you  change  your 
mind?" 

"  Reform." 

"  If  I  stay  here  where  you  are,  I  shall  say 
something  to  be  regretted." 

"  Who  will  regret  it?  " 

"  I.  Your  uncle  and  aunt,  above  all,  your 
grandmother,  will  look  on  me  as  an  adventurer. 
They  will  even  accuse  you  of  —  " 

"Of  what?" 


150         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

I  could  see  him  turn  scarlet. 

"  I  can't  say  it." 

"  You  must." 

"  Of  having  asked  me  down  here  knowing 
that  —  that  I  was  fond  of  you." 

"Well,  what  of  that?  I'm  not  ashamed  of 
that.  I  don't  believe  that  girls  have  to  sit 
around  without  making  any  effort  to  get  what 
they  want  in  life." 

Carin,  you  are  horrified,  aren't  you? 
Darlin',  it  just  slipped  out.  But  it  was 
the  truth. 

"Do  you  mean  — "  he  cried,  putting  his 
horse  up  beside  Sally  McLean.  But  I  told 
you  Sally  was  in  a  mood.  She  didn't  like 
that  way  of  doing  things.  Perhaps  she  thought 
he  meant  to  brush  me  off  of  her,  or  maybe 
she  imagined  that  it  was  a  race.  I  can't  say, 
because  Sally  and  I  do  not  understand  each 
other  very  well  yet.  But  at  any  rate,  she  was 
off  down  the  road,  mud  or  no  mud,  and  I 
did  not  even  try  to  hold  her  in. 

I  could  hear  Keefe  thundering  along  behind 
me,  crying: 

"  Can't  you  hold  her?  Throw  yourself  off." 

But  not  I.    I  let  her  go  as  fast  as  she  wished. 


THE  PORTRAIT  151 

At  least,  until  I  got  near  home  and  on  the 
macadam,  and  then  I  gently  drew  her  in.  I 
didn't  know  but  she  might  be  beyond  all  reason 
by  that  time,  but  she  wasn't,  and  I  felt  terribly 
ashamed  of  having  let  uncle's  fine  mare  get  in 
such  a  fume. 

"  I  do  hope  and  pray,  Sally,"  I  said,  "  that 
I  haven't  ruined  your  disposition  with  my 
wretched  temper." 

Just  then  it  came  over  me  that  there 
was  nothing  at  all  the  matter  with  Sally's 
disposition.  The  trouble  was  all  with  me.  I 
had  been  in  a  trembling  rage  all  day  and  the 
sensitive  creature  had  taken  it  from  me.  I 
was  disgusted  with  myself. 

"  Little  Sally,"  I  whispered  in  her  ear  as  I 
dropped  ofif  her  at  the  house  door,  "  I'll  never, 
never  act  like  that  again." 

She  has  wonderful  eyes.  I  wish  I  had  eyes 
like  that  creature.  She  looked  at  me  straight 
and  we  kissed  and  made  up.  That  is  to  say, 
I  made  the  boy  hold  her  till  I  got  her  some 
sugar,  and  I  told  him  to  rub  her  down  well 
and  blanket  her  and  feed  her  very  lightly. 

"  She  got  a  little  excited,"  I  said.  It  was 
young  James,  and  he  looked  at  me  curiously. 


152         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

I  wondered  if  he,  too,  saw  that  I  was  the 
excited  one. 

"  Yassum,"  he  said.    "  No-um,    Yassum." 

I  thought  it  covered  the  ground. 

I  saw  Keefe  swinging  around  the  drive  just 
then,  and  I  ran  straight  up  to  my  room. 

Oh,  Carin,  how  safe  and  sweet  it  seemed 
there.  I  called  Semmy  and  had  her  draw 
my  bath  and  help  me  ofi  with  my  wet  things, 
and  I  told  her  to  lay  out  my  new  flame-colored 
silk.  It  is  gorgeous  in  hue  but  modest  in  make. 
*'  For  dull  nights,"  said  Aunt  Lorena  when  she 
gave  it  to  me.  "  A  country  house,  my  dear, 
can  be  particularly  gloomy.  I  trust  you  to 
brighten  this  one  up  at  such  times.  Perhaps 
you  can  do  it  successfully  without  the  aid  of 
a  flame-colored  gown,  but  in  case  —  "  Well, 
I  put  on  the  flame-colored  dress;  likewise  the 
slippers  that  went  with  it.  No  jewels.  I  have 
only  my  little  pearls,  and  the  gold  beads  and 
the  amber  ones.  The  dress  would  have  put 
any  of  those  out.  I  did  my  hair  low.  I  took 
off  my  one  ring.  The  dress,  I  thought,  could 
have  the  whole  road  to  itself. 

I  was  one  minute  late  to  dinner,  and  grand- 
mother was  watching  for  me. 


THE  PORTRAIT  153 

^'Madam  grandmother,"  I  said,  "  will  you 
do  me  the  honor?"  I  gave  her  my  arm,  and 
we  went  out  to  the  dining  room.  Grand- 
mother, of  course,  always  precedes  the  others. 

I  minded  my  manners  and  did  not  speak  till 
I  was  spoken  to. 

"Where  were  you  to-day.  Azalea?"  asked 
Aunt  Lorena.  "  Not  in  your  room,  I  know. 
You  should  not  go  out,  child,  without  letting 
us  know  where  you  were  going." 

I  apologized. 

"  I  went  for  a  little  ride.  Auntie,  and  the 
imps  took  hold  of  my  bridle  and  led  me 
farther  than  I  meant.  I  lunched  with  Miss 
Delight  Ravanel.  You  wished,  I  think,  to 
have  me  with  the  Ravanels  as  much  as 
possible." 

"  It  was  your  grandmother  who  recom- 
mended the  Ravanels  to  you  particularly,  I 
think." 

"  I  thank  whoever  it  was.  I  had  a  beautiful 
time.  Miss  Ravanel  is  as  quaint  as  an  old  gift 
book,  and  as  lonely  as  —  as  a  rook." 

"  Rooks  are  not  lonely,"  said  Keefe.  "  They 
go  together  in  swarms." 

"  Lonely  rooks  are  lonely,"  I  said. 


154         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

"  I  hope  Miss  Ravanel  had  received  the 
apricot  jam  I  sent  her?  " 

"  I  have  a  note  from  her,  aunt,  to  that  effect. 
She  has  been  meaning  to  thank  you  in  person. 
She  also  —  in  the  note  —  begs  that  I  may 
spend  the  next  fortnight  with  her." 

"Should  you  like  to?"  asked  Uncle  David 
in  great  surprise. 

"  Oh,   immensely." 

"My  dear  Azalea!"  cried  Aunt  Lorena 
incredulously. 

"  Why  not?  You  advised  me  to  make  new 
friends.     I  have.     She  is  my  new  friend." 

"  But  Delight  Ravanel  is  old  enough  to  be 
your  mother!  And  she's  always  raging  at 
things  and  people.  How  can  you  possibly 
endure  her  for  two  weeks?" 

"  She  was  very  pleasant  indeed  to-day.  Per- 
haps she  is  grouchy  because  she  is  lonely." 

"  Azalea,"  gasped  my  grandmother,  "  what 
was  the  word  you  used?  Grouchy?  What 
does  that  mean,  pray?  No  such  word  was  in 
use  in  my  day." 

Then  I  saw  myself  as  I  was,  a  very  naughty 
young  person,  setting  all  these  lovely  folks 
at  odds. 


THE  PORTRAIT  155 

"It  means  what  I  am  to-night  —  cross  and 
hateful,  dearest  grandmother.  Please,  please 
forgive  me  for  using  it.  I  ought  never  to 
use  anything  but  the  nicest  words  I  know  in 
your  presence." 

I  picked  up  her  little  wrinkled  hand  and 
squeezed  it,  and  she  looked  at  me  as  I  love 
to  have  her,  with  something  of  the  love  in 
her  eyes  which  she  gave  in  the  old  days  to 
my  unforgotten,  wayward  father. 

"  Aunt  Lorena,"  I  said,  "  she  really  does 
want  me  to  visit  her.  But  I'll  make  it  a  week- 
end instead  of  two  weeks  if  you  think  best." 

"  We  couldn't  spare  you  for  two  weeks, 
Azalea,"  said  Uncle  David  kindly.  "  Make 
it  a  week-end,  do.  For  my  part,  I  am  glad 
you  like  her.  Particularly  glad.  She  is  a 
lonely  and  hurt  soul,  is  poor  Delight,  who 
delights  nobody." 

At  that,  Carin,  things  I  had  heard  came 
back  to  me,  and  I  knew  she  once  had  loved 
uncle.  It  must  be  a  terrible  thing  to  love 
someone,  always,  who  cares  nothing  for  you. 
I  can't  think  of  anything  worse. 

"  I  already  had  made  up  my  mind  to  like 
her,"  I  said. 


156         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

When  we  went  to  the  drawing-room  it  was 
raining  so  terribly,  and  the  wind  was  blowing 
so  wildly,  that  the  great  room  w^as  unbearable. 

"  Let's  go  to  the  writing  room,"  said  Aunt 
Lorena. 

The  writing  room  is  a  delightful  little  place, 
mostly  occupied  by  a  great  sofa.  There  is  a 
wide  fireplace,  too,  and  seats  coming  out  from 
it  at  right  angles.  Young  James  built  a  great 
fire  for  us,  and  Semmy  brought  in  some 
marvelous  nut  candies  she  had  made,  and 
Martha  served  the  coffee  there. 

"  No  light  but  the  firelight,  please,  Lorena," 
commanded  grandmother. 

So  we  sat  there  by  the  light  of  the  fire  and 
listened  to  the  storm.  Uncle  and  auntie  were 
together  on  one  of  the  cushioned  benches 
beside  the  fire;  grandmother  was  on  the  huge 
lounge,  wrapped  in  her  camel's  hair  shawl 
and  heaped  about  with  pillows;  I  sat  down  on 
the  other  bench  beside  the  fire.  Keefe  looked 
at  me  a  moment  as  if  undecided  what  to  do. 
Then  he  bowed  and  asked : 

''Have  I  your  permission?" 

''  Oh,  yes,"  said  I  as  simply  as  I  could.  So 
we  sat  side  by  side  for  the  first  time  in  all  our 


THE  PORTRAIT  1^7 

lives,  and  after  a  time  —  after  quite  a  time  — 
I  felt  his  hand  touching  mine  under  the  folds 
of  my  flame-colored  dress.  It  has  a  scarf  to  it, 
that  floats  from  the  shoulders.  It  is  quite  vol- 
• — how  do  you  spell  it?  —  voluminous.  That 
is  why  we  could  hold  hands. 

But  I  was  afraid  uncle  and  auntie  were 
watching  us.     So  I  had  an  idea. 

"  Oh,  dearest  dear  grandmother,"  I  said, 
"  this  is  the  night  of  all  the  world  for  a  story. 
Grandmother,  you  must  tell  us  a  story  —  if 
you    please." 

Grandmother  gave  a  little  laugh, 

"  I  will  do  it,"  she  said.  ''  I  will  tell  3^ou 
the  story  of  an  ancestress  of  yours." 

I  have  partly  written  that  story,  Carin,  and 
when  I  have  finished  it  I  shall  send  it  to  you. 
Love  —  love  from 

Azalea 


CHAPTER  IX 

grandmother's  story 

Mallowbanks,  January  8th. 
Car  in,  my  leaking  one: 

Play  you  are  sitting  in  the  firelight  with  all 
my  family,  and  Keefe  close  beside  me,  and 
the  rain  falling  outside.  If  the  wind  whistles 
down  the  chimney,  it  is,  after  all,  not  loud 
enough  to  drown  my  little  grandmother's  voice, 
for  it  is  a  high  and  musical  one,  and  rises 
above  noises  louder  than  itself.  Very  snug 
and  happy  we  all  are.  It  is  a  witching  hour, 
and  grandmother  looks  unearthly  and  shining, 
with  her  hair  gleaming  in  the  firelight  like  a 
silver  cloud  in  the  sun. 

"  Once  on  a  time,"  said  she,  beginning  her 
story  in  the  good  old  way,  "  there  was  an 
ancestress  of  yours.  Azalea,  my  dear,  named 
Dorothy  Marshall.  She  was  so  gentle  and 
sweet  a  woman  that  long,  long  after  she  was 
dead,    the   fame   of   her   lived   on,    though    no 

158 


GRANDMOTHER'S  STORY        159 

woman  ever  led  a  quieter  life  than  she  did. 
They  say  she  had  fair  hair  and  dark  blue  eyes, 
with  a  complexion  not  pale,  but  golden,  and 
ripe,  full  lips,  and  a  beautiful  dimple  in  her 
chin.  In  her  youth  she  was  a  gallant  horse- 
woman and  she  could  sail  a  boat  like  a  man. 
Indeed,  it  was  the  sea  that  she  loved  the  best, 
though  she  grew  up  amid  beautiful  fields  and 
was  often  in  the  mountains.  But  to  be  within 
sound  and  sight  of  the  sea,  and  to  have  the  smell 
of  it  in  her  nostrils,  made  her  a  happy  woman 
indeed. 

"  That  may  have  been  one  of  the  reasons 
that  when  she  was  only  eighteen  she  married 
Samuel  Bings.  Now  the  Bings  were  a  sea- 
faring family  if  ever  there  was  one.  Twelve 
sons  were  there,  giants  all,  and  save  one,  each 
before  he  died  became  the  commander  of  his 
own  ship  on  the  sea.  They  w^re  merchantmen, 
these  ships,  in  the  carrying  trade  between 
Norfolk  and  ports  all  over  the  world,  and  to 
this  day  there  are  many  strange  things  in  our 
family  which  they  brought  from  half  around 
the  world. 

"  Samuel  was  the  fifth  son  and  of  them  all 
the  most  like  his   father,   who  was   a   famous 


160         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

seaman  and  had  been  thrice  around  the  world, 
and  many  times  about  the  Horn.  When 
Samuel  and  Dorothy  were  married  there  was 
feasting  and  dancing  in  the  old  Marshall  home 
at  Norfolk,  and  good  wishes  from  high  and 
low.  They  were  so  young,  so  handsome,  so 
fortunate,  that  only  one  cloud  could  be  dis- 
covered anywhere  on  their  horizon,  and  that 
was  that  either  they  must  be  apart,  or  Dorothy 
must  follow  the  fortunes  of  the  sea  with  her 
husband.  This  she  would  gladly  have  done 
had  it  not  been  that  her  mother,  whose  only 
daughter  she  was,  suffered  poor  health  and 
could  not  endure  to  have  her  daughter  leave 
her.  So  it  was  decided  that  Samuel  was  to 
make  one  journey  more,  for  which  he  had 
signed,  and  that  he  would  then  give  up  his 
sailor's  life  and  conduct  a  ship  chandlery  at 
home. 

"  With  that  Dorothy  begged  him  to  go  with 
her  for  one  last  journey  over  the  mountains, 
that  they  might  be  together  in  solitude  for  a 
while.  So  he  took  his  fine  roan,  Pacolet,  and 
she  her  little  mare,  Bess,  and  they  rode  away 
for  a  wonderful  month  among  the  mountains, 
stopping  where   they   pleased,    and   seeing   the 


GRANDMOTHER'S  STORY        161 

homes  and  plantations  of  their  fellow  Vir- 
ginians, and  everywhere  they  were  entertained 
with  great  consideration,  for  two  handsomer  or 
more  charming  young  people  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  find.  Moreover,  Samuel  loved 
his  horse  Pacolet  better  than  anything  in  the 
world  save  his  bride,  and  to  feel  this  faithful 
and  spirited  steed  under  him,  and  to  see  the 
fair  face  of  his  love  shining  with  health  and 
joy,  was,  he  thought,  all  that  any  man  could 
ask  of  fate. 

"  So  it  was  with  a  stout  heart  that  at  last 
he  sailed  away  as  commander  of  his  elder 
brother's  merchantman.  The  Adventure,  carry- 
ing cotton  to  France  and  tobacco  to  Algiers 
and  gold  to  Constantinople.  For  you  must 
know.  Azalea,  that  at  that  time — I  think  it 
must  have  been  about  1794,  America  did  a 
good  trade  among  the  ports  of  the  Mediterra- 
nean and  even  beyond.  Perhaps,  too,  if  you 
have  read  your  history,  you  will  know  how  the 
corsairs  of  the  Barbary  States  preyed  upon 
these  merchantmen,  so  that  it  was  necessary 
for  America  to  place  a  fleet  of  battleships  to 
guard  the  African  coast  in  order  to  protect 
the  merchant  ships  from  the  pirates.    Notwith- 


162         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

standing  this,  many  a  ship  was  held  against  its 
will  and  its  officers  and  crews  made  prisoners, 
and  it  was  a  common  thing  for  notices  to  be 
read  in  American  churches,  giving  the  names 
of  those  in  captivity  in  Tripoli  or  Algiers. 
Then  would  the  friends  and  relatives  of  the 
imprisoned  men  raise  money  and  buy  them 
out  again. 

"  But  Samuel  Bings  had  no  fear.  The  Bings 
were  brave  men  and  subtle  men,  and  they 
reckoned  with  their  wits  to  keep  them  out  of 

trouble. 

"  '  Keep  heart  of  grace,  Dorothy,  my  love,' 
said  Samuel  when  he  bade  her  good-bye.  '  A 
year  may  pass,  or  a  year  and  a  half  at  farthest; 
then  shall  you  see  me  home,  and  never  more 
will  I  quit  shore  save  by  your  leave  or  in 
your  company.' 

^'  But  hardly  had  he  put  to  sea  when  troubles 
came  upon  his  bride.  First  her  long-ailing 
mother  died;  then  three  months  after  that  her 
father  bade  her  farewell  also.  So  she  was  left 
alone  in  the  world.  She  had  kin  in  plenty  — 
though  none  of  them  were  very  near  —  who 
would  have  welcomed  her  to  their  homes,  but 
they  lived  on  plantations  out  of  sight  of  the 


GRANDMOTHER'S  STORY        163 

sea,  and  Dorothy  had  a  mind  to  be  where 
she  could  see  it  rolling  in  bringing  the  brave 
ships  on  it. 

"'What  if  The  Adventure  should  land  and 
Samuel  come  seeking  me  and  I  not  be  at 
hand?  '  she  said. 

"  So  she  chose  her  a  house  on  the  side  of  the 
hill  that  led  up  from  the  wharves,  and  from  its 
galleries  she  could  see  every  ship  that  came 
sailing  into  port.  Here  she  made  her  a  home, 
putting  into  it  whatever  was  most  beautiful  or 
treasured  from  the  old  house  of  the  Marshalls, 
and  those  curious  things  which  the  brothers 
Bings  had  brought  her  from  China  and  Java 
and  Japan  and  the  South  Sea  isles;  yes,  and 
from  the  Bahamas  and  the  Azores  and  the 
Canaries  and  the  Hebrides  and  all  the  islands 
they  had  visited.  Moreover,  she  made  it  her 
business  to  build  a  fine  stable  for  her  husband's 
beloved  horse,  Pacolet,  so  that  he  was  tended 
like  a  king's  horse,  and  every  day  she  rode  him 
to  keep  him  in  form,  and  she  would  take  him 
to  a  certain  place  where  they  could  overlook 
the  sea,  and  the  two  of  them  would  stand  there 
like  statues,  watching  the  horizon  for  a  sight 
of  The  Adventure. 


164         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

"  The  year  passed  with  no  word  from 
Samuel.     But  Dorothy  comforted  her  heart. 

"  '  Did  he  not  say  I  might  have  to  wait  a 
year  and  a  half  a  year?  '  she  asked. 

"  But  the  year  and  the  half  year  went  by, 
and  it  was  two  years,  and  then  three,  and  noth- 
ing was  heard  of  the  ship  at  all.  So  a  dark 
fear  began  to  grow  up  in  the  heart  of  Dorothy, 
and  she  never  missed  her  church,  not  only 
because  she  was  devout,  but  because  she 
thought  that  some  time  she  might  hear  the 
name  of  her  husband  read  as  among  those  who 
were  lying  in  one  of  the  cruel  Barbary  prisons 
awaiting  a  ransom.  But  never  a  word  did  she 
hear,  and  the  years  rolled  by. 

"Then  came  the  year  1801  and  Tripoli 
declared  war  upon  America,  and  Stephen 
Decatur  was  sent  to  deal  with  the  treacherous 
governments  of  Tangier  and  Tripoli,  and 
there,  after  his  victories,  he  saw  to  the  release 
of  all  American  prisoners. 

" '  Now,  surely,'  thought  Dorothy  Bings, 
*  my  husband  will  return.' 

"  But  he  did  not  come,  and  though  his 
brothers,  always  traveling,  inquired  at  all  ports 
if  anything  had  been  heard  of  him,  they  never 


GRANDMOTHER'S  STORY        165 

were  able  to  bring  his  waiting  wife  any  word. 

"  Then  the  brothers,  compassionate  for  her 
youth  and  her  sorrow,  bade  her  accept  her 
widowhood  with  courage. 

"  '  Samuel  is  dead,'  they  said.  '  He  has  died 
the  death  of  a  sailor  and  a  gentleman,  rest  you 
sure.  Be  comforted,  Dorothy.  You  loved  him 
well  and  he  loved  you,  but  he  is  gone.  Accept 
your  sorrow  and  find  another  mate.  He  would 
be  the  last  one  to  wish  you  to  dwell  here  alone 
with  your  youth  going  and  no  child  in  your 
house  to  comfort  .you.  We,  his  brothers,  bid 
you  seek  new  happiness.' 

''  And  indeed  the  beautiful  Mistress  Bings 
might  have  had  her  pick  of  many  gallant 
gentlemen.  But  though  they  sued  her  ardently, 
and  though  she  was  lonely  with  a  loneliness 
beyond  her  words  to  express,  she  could  not 
bring  herself  to  be  the  bride  of  any  one 
of    them. 

" '  For  what,'  said  she,  '  if  I  should  wed 
me,  and  some  day  Samuel  should  come  home, 
looking  for  me?  What  if  he  is  eating  his  heart 
out  now  in  some  dungeon  or  on  some  lonely 
isle,  dreaming  of  me  and  Pacolet,  and  I  should 
take  the  horse  and  myself  to   a  new  master? 


166         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

No,  no,  I  could  never  sleep  quiet  in  my  bed, 
nor  Pacolet  in  his  stall,  were  we  false  to  him. 
He  trusted  us  beyond  all  the  world.  We  will 
be  faithful.' 

"  So  the  years  rolled  by,  and  at  last  silver 
began  to  come  in  the  golden  hair  of  Mistress 
Dorothy.  But  her  longing,  instead  of  growing 
less,  increased  year  by  year,  so  that  she  did 
little  else  but  watch  the  harbor  and  the 
wharves,  and  to  every  sailor  man  who  came  up 
the  street,  staggering  from  his  long  journey, 
she  called : 

"  '  Pray  pardon  me,  good  sir,  but  have  you 
been  overseas?  Then  perhaps  you  will  tell 
me  if  you  saw  anyway,  in  any  port,  a  tall  man 
with  steel  blue  eyes,  named  Samuel  Bings.' 

"And  the  sailors,  high  and  low,  paid  her 
courtesy,  knowing  her  sad  story,  and  respecting 
her  for  her  steadfastness,  and  they  would  stop, 
hat  in  hand  below  her  balcony,  and  tell  her  of 
their  voyages,  and  of  what  they  knew  con- 
cerning the  fate  of  missing  men.  But  never  a 
one  of  them,  stranger  or  friend,  could  bring 
her  word  of  the  man  she  mourned. 

"  Because  of  this  intercourse  she  came  to 
know  many,   many  sailors,   and  since  she  was 


GRANDMOTHER'S  STORY        167 

one  of  those  whom  sorrow  teaches,  they  trusted 
her  and  came  to  her  in  trouble,  and  brought 
her  their  joys,  too.  She  was  the  friend  to 
all,  and  since  she  had  a  liberal  soul  and  a 
well-filled  purse,  she  was  enabled  to  help  many 
a  poor  man  in  straits,  and  to  send  him  on  his 
way  with  a  strengthened  heart 

"  At  length,  old  age  came  upon  her.  She 
leaned  upon  a  stick  when  she  walked,  and  she 
must  needs  be  wrapped  in  the  rich  shawls 
brought  her  from  far  lands,  when  she  sat  upon 
the  galleries.  But  still  her  eyes  were  bright, 
and  they  were  always  seeking,  seeking,  and  her 
voice  was  sweet  though  it  quavered  as  she 
leaned  over  her  gallery's  edge  to  question  the 
men  who  came  up  from  the  ships. 

"  '  She  will  never  hear  from  Samuel  Bings 
this  side  heaven,'  the  sailor  men  fell  into  the 
way  of  saying.  And  now  she  was  so  venerable, 
and  her  sad  story  was  so  widely  known,  that 
men  coming  to  the  port  for  the  first  time 
would  question  if  she  was  yet  to  be  seen,  and 
they  would  salute  as  they  approached,  and 
would  wait  to  hear  the  questions  that  she 
asked.  She  was  to  them  like  a  ballad  of  true 
love,  or  a  chant  grown  dear  with  use.     Indeed, 


168         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

they  made  songs  about  her,  and  when  they 
argued  for  true  love,  they  were  able  to  point 
to  her.  They  venerated  her  silver  hair,  which 
had  once  been  golden,  and  it  was  to  the  glory 
of  Norfolk  that  she  lived  there. 

"  Then,  one  day  as  she  sat  in  the  sunshine, 
watching  the  harbor  and  noting  the  ships  and 
the  busy  throng  upon  the  wharves,  and  all  the 
business  that  had  become  to  her  as  her  very 
life,  an  old,  bent  man,  a  sailor  by  his  walk  and 
dress,  came  shambling  up  the  street.  She 
never  had  seen  him  before,  but  no  sooner  had 
her  eyes  fallen  upon  him  than  her  heart  gave  a 
great  leap. 

"  '  Come  to  me,'  she  called  to  the  faithful 
servant  who  had  been  her  companion  since  the 
days  when  she  was  a  bride.  '  Come  to  me  and 
hold  me  by  the  arm,  for  I  must  question  yon- 
der man.' 

"  So  the  maid  supported  her,  and  Mistress 
Bings  got  to  the  balustrade  of  her  balcony,  and 
leaning  over  it,  called  to  the  old  stranger. 

"  '  Your  pardon  sir,  but  have  you  been  travel- 
ing long  and  far? ' 

"  The  man  lifted  his  cap,  and  as  well  as  he 
could  for  his  bent  back,  he  looked  up  at  the 


GRANDMOTHER'S  STORY        169 

silver-haired   lady  on   the  balcony   above   him. 

"  '  Long  and  far,  madam,'  he  answered. 

"  '  Then  I  beg  you  of  your  goodness  to  come 
up  here  and  talk  with  me  a  while.' 

"  The  old  man  hesitated,  perplexed  at  such 
an  invitation.     But  she  called  again: 

"  '  I  beg  you  of  your  goodness.' 

"  So  he  came,  and  she  asked  him  to  be  seated 
before  her,  and  then  she  fixed  her  burning 
eyes  on  him. 

"  'Tell  me,  sir,  have  you  in  all  of  your 
travels  ever  met  a  man  named  Samuel  Bings 
—  a  tall  man  with  steel  blue  eyes,  a  sailor, 
every  inch  of  him?' 

"  The  old  man  stared  at  her  a  moment,  and 
then  started  to  his  feet. 

"'Are  you,'  he  cried,  'his  wife,  Dorothy? 
Had  he  a  horse  named  Pacolet?  ' 

" '  I  knew  it!  I  knew  it,'  cried  Mistress 
Bings.  '  As  soon  as  ever  I  saw  you  coming 
up  the  street,  I  knew  that  at  last  I  should  hear 
of  him.     Oh,  tell  me,  sir,  is  he  living  still?' 

"  The  old  man  sank  into  his  seat  again  and 
hung  his  huge  head  over  his  knees. 

"  '  No,  madam,  he  is  dead  these  ten  years 
since.' 


170         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 


a  c 


Ah,  dead,'  breathed  Mistress  Bings.  '  He 
is  at  rest,  my  Samuel.  He  is  safe  in  his  last 
bed.  He  suffers  no  longer.  May  God  rest 
his  soul! ' 

"  For  a  little  while  she  could  say  no  more, 
only  now  and  then  crying  to  her  maid: 

"  '  He  is  at  rest.     He  suffers  no  longer.' 

"  Then,  when  she  was  calmer,  she  turned 
once  more  to   the  bowed  stranger. 

"  '  For  the  love  of  God,  sir,  tell  me  all 
you  know.' 

"  So  he  told  her  the  story  of  how  he  had 
been  a  small  planter  in  Jamaica,  a  man  of 
English  birth,  and  how  a  great  tobacco  mer- 
chant of  that  place  had  fitted  out  a  ship  to 
convey  his  produce  to  the  Turkish  ports,  and 
how  he,  William  Hull,  had  sailed  with  her, 
being  minded  to  take  a  voyage.  They  had  a 
fair  crossing,  and  Hull  said  to  himself  that 
now  at  last  he  was  living,  now  at  last,  he  was 
seeing  life.  Then,  off  the  Tripoli  coast,  the 
ship  was  attacked  by  corsairs  and  captured,  and 
the  captain  and  crew  were  thrown  in  prison. 
In  time,  the  captain  and  all  of  his  men  save 
Hull  were  released,  but  Hull  was  of  a  restless 
and  quick  nature,  and  would  not  make  friends 


GRANDMOTHEPv'S  STOPvY        171 

of  his  foes.  The  jailors  complained  that  he 
was  quarrelsome;  twice  he  tried  to  escape  and 
was  recaptured;  and  he  openly  vowed 
vengeance  on  Tripoli  should  he  ever  be  a  free 
man  again  and  upon  a  ship  of  his  own  country. 
So,  what  with  his  hot-headedness,  and  the 
warfare  that  was  on  then  between  America  and 
the  Barbary  States,  he  came  under  the  notice  of 
the  dey,  who,  regarding  him  as  a  dangerous 
man,  had  him  put  in  the  dungeons  below 
ground.  For  a  time  he  was  all  alone,  and  he 
all  but  went  mad  in  the  solitude,  but  after  a 
time  there  was  need  to  put  a  dangerous  mur- 
derer in  his  dungeon,  and  he  was  removed  to 
another  place,  and  thrown  in  with  an  old, 
half-crazed  man. 

"  '  He  had  been  a  man  of  great  stature,'  said 
Hull,  '  and  it  Vv^as  easy  to  see,  in  spite  of  all  his 
rags  and  filth,  that  he  was  a  gentleman.  He 
greeted  me  courteously  when  I  entered,  and  I 
said  to  myself  that  now  I  should  be  able  to 
hold  converse  wdth  a  fellow-being,  but  indeed, 
madam,  it  was  little  enough  converse  that  we 
held.  He  could  hold  to  one  theme  but  a 
moment  or  two,  and  then  he  would  fall  under 
a  sort  of  spell,  and  would  sit  softly  mumbling 


172         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

to  himself,  as  if  he  were  going  back  over  old 
scenes.  Then  he  would  arouse  himself  and  call 
to  me.  And  when  I  answered  him,  he  would 
say: 

"  '  "  Man,  man,  if  ever  you  go  free,  for  the 
love  of  God,  search  out  my  sweet  wife  Dorothy 
and  my  good  horse  Pacolet,  and  tell  them  I 
have  not  forgot." 

"  '  Sometimes  he  would  sob  when  he  spoke 
these  words,  and  sometimes  he  would  call  them 
at  the  top  of  his  voice.  Again  he  would  whis- 
per them,  and  often  in  his  sleep  I  would  hear 
him  muttering:  "  My  sweet  wife  Dorothy  and 
my  good  horse  Pacolet."  ' 

"  The  old  stranger  stopped  in  compassion, 
for  Mistress  Bings  lay  with  her  face  against 
the  high  back  of  her  chair,  as  colorless  as  snow. 
But  when  she  found  that  he  had  ceased,  she 
motioned  for  him  to  proceed. 

"  '  This  is  the  greatest  day  of  my  life,  save 
one,'  she  said,  '  and  that  was  the  day  I  became 
a  bride.  Do  not  fear  for  me.  Finish  your 
tale.' 

"  '  Nine  years,  lacking  three  months,  we  were 
together  in  that  dungeon,'  continued  Hull,  '  and 
then  he  died.     A  sudden  cold,  a  closing  of  the 


ii  c 


GRANDMOTHER'S  STORY        173 

lungs,  and  he  was  gone.  He  passed  away  In 
my  arms,  madam,  very  peacefully,  and  with  his 
last  breath  he  bade  me  carry  messages  to  you.' 
And  you  waited  all  these  years,  man? ' 
Madam,  I  knew  nothing  of  the  place  he 
called  his  home,  and  though  he  often  tried  for 
hours  at  a  time  to  remember,  he  could  not  recall 
them.  Never,  in  all  that  time,  did  he  talk 
lucidly  upon  any  subject  at  all,  save  when  he 
spoke  of  you  and  his  horse,  and  then  he  said 
no  more  than  I  have  told  you.  It  was  as  if, 
finding  that  all  things  were  going  from  him, 
he  commanded  himself  to  remember  the  two 
beings  he  loved.' 

"'Yet  you  knew  his  name,  William  Hull?' 
said  Mistress  Bings. 

"  '  Aye,  madam.  When  at  last  my  old  cap- 
tain was  able  to  secure  my  release,  I  begged 
him  and  the  governor  to  go  with  me  to  the 
keeper  of  the  prison,  and  there  I  told  him  that 
I  had  but  one  little  favor  to  ask  in  return  for 
the  years  of  life  he  had  wrenched  from  me,  and 
that  was  the  name  of  my  companion.  So  he 
gave  it  to  me  —  Bings.  But  he  could  not  tell 
me  from  what  American  port  he  had  sailed,  nor 
would  he  give  me  anything  of  his  story.     To 


174         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

this  day,  madam,  I  do  not  know  the  fate  of  his 
ship  or  his  crew,  and  I  fear  that  this  tragedy- 
like  many  others,  will  be  unrecorded  to  the 
end  of  time.' 

'' '  To  the  end  of  time,'  whispered  Mistress 
Bings.  '  To  the  end  of  time  is  a  long  while, 
William  Hull.' 

''  '  So  long  it  will  never  come,'  said  William 
Hull. 

"  '  But  he  never  forgot?  My  husband  never 
forgot?  In  darkness  and  solitude  and  madness, 
he  remembered  me  still?' 

"  '  Madam,  it  was  his  one  joy.' 

"  '  Pacolet  is  long  since  dead,'  said  Mistress 
Bings.  '  He  is  buried  in  a  fine  field,  and  a  great 
bowlder  is  placed  above  his  grave  to  mark  it.* 

"  '  He  loved  his  horse,'  said  William  Hull. 

'''May  they  meet  in  Paradise!'  cried 
Mistress   Bings. 

"  '  What,  madam,  the  soul  of  the  man  and  — 
and  a  horse?  ' 

"  '  May  they  meet  in  Paradise,'  she  repeated. 
Then  she  bade  William  Hull  enter  her  house, 
and  she  feasted  him  well,  and  when  he  had 
finished,  she  asked  liim  concerning  his  life  and 
his  work,  and  when  she  found  that  though  old, 


GRANDMOTHER'S  STORY        175 

and  bent  and  broken,  he  meant  always  to  fol- 
low the  sea,  a  common  sailor  before  the  mast  — 
the  least  of  all  the  signed  men  because  of  his 
bent  back  —  she  cried: 

"  *  Not  so,  William  Hull.  You  shall  not  so 
weary  yourself.  If  you  have  a  mind  to  stay  on 
land,  I  will  build  you  a  snug  house  on  one  of 
my  plantations;  but  if  you  prefer  the  sea,  I 
will  buy  you  a  yawl,  and  you  can  sail  from 
port  to  port  along  our  coast  here.' 

"  So  at  first  William  Hull  spoke  for  the  sea 
and  the  yawl,  but  when  he  learned  that  she 
would  no  longer  live  in  the  house  that  watched 
the  harbor  —  there  being  no  reason  why  she 
should  continue  to  search  the  faces  of  returning 
sailors,  looking  among  them  for  the  one  she 
loved  —  but  would  go  onto  a  plantation  and 
live  among  her  trees  and  flowers,  he  elected  to 
live  near  her  and  to  be  her  servant.  To  the 
end,  he  served  her,  and  she  guarded  him,  he 
for  the  sake  of  a  man  who,  though  bereft  of  his 
senses,  was  still  an  affectionate  friend,  she  for 
the  sake  of  the  bridegroom  who  had  never  for- 
gotten his  love,  and  who  had  been  snatched 
from  the  sunlight  to  wither  in  a  dungeon  all 
his  days." 


176         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

That  is  the  tale  my  grandmother  told. 

And  all  the  while,  Carin,  I  let  my  hand  stay 
in  Keefe's.  The  fire  fell  low,  the  wind  grew 
higher,  and  the  story,  you  might  have  thought, 
would  have  made  us  sad.  But  it  did  not  do  so. 
Grandmother  walked  up  the  stairs  to  her  room 
with  her  head  lifted;  I  saw  Uncle  David  and 
Aunt  Lorena  going  down  the  corridor  hand 
in  hand.  As  for  me,  I  could  have  danced.  I 
do  not  know  what  Keefe  thought,  but  I  heard 
him  singing  "  Annie  Laurie  "  when  he  reached 
his  room.  I  saw  then  that  the  story  had  risen 
above  sorrow  into  joy,  and  when  I  went  to  bed 
I  was  very,  very  happy  —  happier  than  ever 
before  in  my  life.  It  is  wonderful  to  know 
there  is  really  such  a  thing  as  true  love  in  the 
world,  isn't  it? 

Azalea 


CHAPTER  X 

"  THE  WATERS  OF  QUIET  " 

Mallowbanks,  January  21st. 
My  own  Car'in: 

I  no  longer  have  a  grandmother. 

She  has  gone.  She  is  dead;  but  we  are  trying 
not  to  grieve.  We  are  thinking  of  her  as  sail- 
ing on  "  the  waters  of  quiet "  to  where  her 
husband  and  her  beloved  son  await  her. 

It  was  her  love  for  that  dead  son,  my  father, 
that  brought  about  her  death.  Soon  after  I 
wrote  you  last,  we  could  see  that  a  cloud  was 
settling  over  her  spirit.  She  was  very  restless 
and  could  not  sleep,  but  would  go  wandering 
about  the  house  if  she  were  not  prevented. 

"  I  reckon  ole  Miss  has  got  to  studyin'  about 
Mars  Jack  again,"  said  Semmy  to  me.  Indeed, 
all  of  us  in  the  house  could  see  that  this  was  so. 
She  became  suspicious  of  us  and  thought  we 
were  watching  her  to  prevent  her  from  going 
out   to   her  boy.     She   thought  he  was   living 

177 


178         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

again,  young  and  wayward,  with  no  friend  but 
herself,  and  though  she  seemed  to  be  reasonable 
enough  upon  other  subjects,  in  regard  to  that 
she  was  quite  insane. 

Martha  was  set  to  watch  her  early  and  late, 
and  when  she  was  weary  Semmy  or  I  took  her 
place.  She  was  sweet  and  gay  at  moments. 
One  afternoon  she  showed  me  her  painted  fans 
and  her  jewels,  and  told  me  they  would  be 
mine,  some  day,  and  I  was  naughty  enough  to 
say: 

"  But  madam  grandmother,  what  shall  little 
Azalea  do  with  all  those?  Don't  you  think  her 
little  string  of  '  Job's  tears '  and  a  peacock  fan 
made  by  herself  become  her  better?" 

That  teased  her,  as  I  knew  it  would. 

"  My  dear  Azalea,"  she  said  in  her  most 
earnest  manner,  "  you  are  a  true  Knox,  and 
these  jewels  and  fans  will  become  you.  Wear 
them,  not  only  for  your  own  sake,  but  for  the 
credit  of  your  family." 

I  like  to  think  of  those  last  days  we  spent 
together.  They  were  dreamy,  and  happily- 
sad  —  diflferent  from  other  days  altogether. 
Keefe  was  finishing  her  portrait,  but  we  would 
no  longer  let  her  sit  to  him.     He  caught  her 


"THE  WATERS  OF  QUIET"      179 

expressions  from  day  to  day  and  made  studies 
of  them,  and  touched  up  the  portrait  by  him- 
self. It  was  wonderful  to  me  to  see  her 
sparkling,  wrinkled,  aristocratic  face,  at  once 
so  worldly  and  so  spiritual,  growing  out  of  the 
canvas.  Then,  when  she  told  him  that  he  was 
to  make  a  second  copy  of  it,  that  I  might  have 
one  for  my  very  own,  you  can  fancy  my  pride 
and  satisfaction. 

Well,  we  had  fallen  into  the  way  of  locking 
the  two  doors  that  lead  from  her  bedroom,  so 
that  if  she  should  be  taken  with  one  of  her  old 
wandering  spells  and  should  try  to  slip  by 
Martha,  who  had  a  cot  in  the  room  with  her, 
she  would  be  unable  to  get  out.  I  slept  in  the 
little  dressing  room  next  to  her  that  I  might  be 
of  assistance  to  JVIartha  should  she  need  me, 
and  several  times  she  did,  for  grandmother 
insisted  on  going  out  to  the  old  place  at  the  end 
of  the  garden.  Once  she  had  her  jewel  case 
with  her,  and  insisted  that  Jack  must  have  the 
jewels,  because  he  was  going  hungry  and  was 
sleeping  by  the  wayside,  while  she  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  family  lived  in  luxury.  It  took  me 
a  long  time  to  quiet  her. 

But  she  was  so  well  guarded  that  we  thought 


180         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

no  harm  could  possibly  come  to  her.  But 
the  hour  came  when  we  all  failed  her.  I 
cannot  bear  to  think  of  it.  No  one  in  the  house 
can. 

It  happened  this  way.  I  had  gone  motoring 
with  Uncle  David  and  Keefe.  Aunt  Lorena 
remained  at  home  to  be  near  grandmother,  and 
Martha  was  in  immediate  charge.  But  Martha 
is  old,  too,  and  though  she  is  most  loyal,  she 
does  not  always  use  the  best  judgment.  At  any 
rate,  while  Aunt  Lorena  was  down  with  the 
cook  talking  over  Sunday's  dinner.  Grand- 
mother sent  Martha  to  call  her.  She  said  she 
wished  to  consult  with  her  at  once  upon  some 
important  matter. 

So  Martha,  nothing  doubting,  went  in  search 
of  Aunt  Lorena,  and  when  she  came  back 
grandmother  was  missing.  She  had  been  in 
the  little  upstairs  sitting  room,  but  she  was 
not  to  be  found  there  nor  in  her  bedroom. 
Unfortunately,  Martha  wasted  a  few  minutes 
in  looking  for  her  on  the  second  story,  and  then 
she  came  trembling  down  to  the  first  floor,  her 
old  knees  quaking  under  her,  and  looked  there 
without  success.  Old  James  had  been  tidying 
up  the  walk  in  front  of  the  house  —  for  there 


a 


THE  WATERS  OF  QUIET"      181 


had  been  a  rain  and  a  cold  wind,  and  twigs  and 
branches  were  lying  all  about  the  ground  — 
and  he  said  she  had  not  come  out.  So  more 
time  was  spent  in  searching  for  her  all  about 
the  great  rambling  house.  The  servants  began 
looking  in  the  rooms  we  never  use,  and  then 
they  ran  up  to  the  attic,  thinking  she  might  be 
up  there  looking  over  her  chests  and  boxes  as 
she  likes  to  do  sometimes.  But  she  was  not 
there  either. 

Then  Uncle  David,  Keefe  and  I  came  home. 

I  had  noticed  as  we  swept  around  the  drive 
which  goes  by  the  east  wing  of  the  house,  that 
a  certain  little  side  door  opening  into  the  gar- 
den, stood  ajar,  which  was  curious  for  this  time 
of  the  year.  It  is  a  door  used  only  in  the  sum- 
mer time,  and  then  usually  by  someone  who 
wishes  to  escape  quietly  into  the  garden  without 
being  seen  by  those  in  the  front  of  the  house. 

"  It's  a  cold  day  for  a  door  to  be  standing 
open  like  that,"  I  said  to  Uncle  David. 

"  Curious,"  he  said.  "  Mr.  O'Connor,  as  you 
go  in,  be  kind  enough  to  close  it.  It  leads  from 
the  little  coat  room  beneath  the  stairs." 

Keefe  and  I  went  in  together,  and  then  we 
heard  the  tumult  in  the  house. 


182         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

"We  can't  find  your  grandmother!"  said 
Aunt  Lorena  to  me,  showing  her  white  face  at 
the  head  of  the  stairs.  With  that  it  flashed 
through  me  at  once  that  she  had  escaped  by  the 
side  door.  I  flung  off  my  motor  coat  and  ran 
for  the  coat  room  and  through  the  door  into 
the  garden.  There,  sure  enough,  by  the  narrow 
brick  terrace  was  the  imprint  of  her  little  shoe. 

''  Come,  Keefe,  come,"  I  called,  for  I  felt 
there  was  great  trouble  ahead,  and  I  wanted 
him  to  be  with  me,  Carin.  Yes,  I  can  tell  you, 
my  dear,  to  whom  every  event,  almost  every 
feeling  of  my  life,  is  known,  that  I  wanted  him 
above  everyone  else  in  the  world. 

It  was  almost  dark  by  this  time,  and  the  two 
of  us  ran  out,  hand  in  hand,  and  down  the  gray 
garden  in  the  mist.  Nothing  looked  natural 
to  me.  The  very  shrubbery,  wreathed  all  in 
white  as  it  was,  frightened  me.  The  bushes 
looked  like  strange,  unheard-of  beasts,  crouch- 
ing to  spring.  And  the  whole  place  was  so 
terribly  still!  I  could  feel  my  breath  catching 
in  my  throat  and  strangling  me. 

"  It  is  at  the  end  of  the  garden  she  goes  to 
meet  him,"  I  managed  to  say  through  my 
throat. 


"THE  WATERS  OF  QUIET"      183 

"To  meet  whom?"  asked  Keefe.  (I  never 
had  told  him  the  story  of  my  father.) 

"  Pier  dead  son,"  I  gasped,  and  said  no  more. 
For  how  could  I  explain  then?  Keefe  looked 
at  me  as  if  he  thought  I  was  out  of  my  head, 
but  I  said  nothing,  and  we  ran  on. 

And  then  we  came  to  the  pool  —  the  little 
sweet  pool  that  is  like  the  heart  of  the  garden. 
The  three  swans  were  close  to  the  shore  looking 
at  something  dark  that  lay  there. 

And  it  was  she,  Carin.  It  was  little  madam 
grandmother.  She  had  fallen  with  her  face  in 
the  water,  and  it  seemed  as  if  she  had  not  even 
tried  to  rise. 

Keefe  saw  her  and  sprang  to  her  and  picked 
her  up  in  his  arms,  and  I  came  and  looked  at 
her. 

"  She  has  gone  where  she  wished  to  go,"  said 
Keefe.     "  She  is  with  her  son." 

"  Yes,  I  am  sure  it  is  as  she  would  like  it  to 
be,"  I  cried,  and  I  held  her  hand  in  mine  all 
the  way  to  the  house,  and  wondered  if  she 
knew  I  was  glad  for  her  —  that  I  was  con- 
gratulating her. 

But,  Oh,  Carin,  hovv^  one's  throat  can  ache! 
How  one's  heart  can  hang  heavy,  like  a  weight! 


184         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

How  one's  eyes  can  burn  and  head  can  throb, 
and  how  one's  thoughts  can  heavily  turn  and 
turn,  like  an  iron  wheel!  Did  you  ever  have 
a  great  sorrow?  Oh,  yes,  I  remember  that  you 
did,  when  your  three  brothers  were  lost  in  that 
horrible  theater  fire.  Well,  I  have  had  a  great 
sorrow  before,  too,  when  I  lost  my  little  mother. 
But  I  was  so  young  then  and  so  generally  mis- 
erable, and  life  had  been  hideous  for  so  long, 
that  it  was  only  one  added  pang.  It  was  diflfer- 
ent  from  this.  I  seem  unable  to  get  that  scene 
in  the  garden  out  of  my  mind.  Grandmother 
seems  still  to  be  fluttering  before  those  portraits 
of  herself,  or  in  among  the  cabinets  in  the 
drawing-room,  or  along  the  corridors,  beckon- 
ing to  her  old  Martha,  or  calling  out  to  me: 
"  Your  arm.  Azalea,  please." 

The  funeral  was  strangely  quaint  and  beau- 
tiful. So  many  old  people  came  —  old  friends 
from  far  away  as  well  as  near  at  hand,  and  I 
cannot  begin  to  tell  you  about  the  curious 
coaches  and  carriages  that  some  of  them  came 
in.  The  bishop  preached  the  service,  the  fun- 
eral being  held,  oddly  enough,  in  the  old  ball- 
room of  the  house  —  the  room  where  grand- 
mother had  danced  as  a  bride.     But  it  looked 


"THE  WATERS  OF  QUIET"      185 

very  imposing  and  solemn  on  the  day  of  her 
burial.  It  is  paneled  in  dark  wood,  and  all 
about  it  were  candles  burning  in  their  sconces, 
and  from  grandmother's  coffin  trailed  a  great 
cloth  of  gold  and  black  brocade. 

The  bishop  had  a  voice  like  an  organ,  and 
when  I  heard  him  reading: 

"  I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life,"  my 
sorrow  seemed  to  lighten. 

Everyone  was  very  kind  to  me  —  much 
kinder  than  I  had  any  right  to  expect.  I  had 
to  meet  many  of  the  old  family  friends.  It  was 
really  required  of  me.  Aunt  Lorena  explained, 
for  there  were  a  number  present  on  this  occa- 
sion who  had  not  been  at  my  coming-out  party. 
So,  after  the  funeral,  I  was  introduced  to  them. 

You  understand,  Carin,  grandmother  was  not 
taken  from  the  house  after  the  funeral.  No, 
she  was  left  lying  up  in  that  splendid  room, 
and  downstairs  the  funeral  guests  were  given 
some  refreshments  —  for  most  of  them  had 
come  a  long  way,  and  many  were  old  —  and 
then,  at  midnight,  the  old  servants  carried  the 
coffin  to  the  great  vault  that  stands  in  a  grove 
near  the  house,  and  Uncle  David  and  Aunt 
Lorena  and  Keefe  and  I  followed,  and  she  was 


186         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

laid  away  with  others  of  her  family,  my  father 
among  the  rest. 

There  are  cypress  trees  and  hemlocks  round 
about  this  vault,  and  they  stood  up  black  against 
the  dark  sky,  sw^aying  and  crying.  Not  one  of  us 
spoke  a  word,  and  the  only  sound  w^as  the 
sobbing  of  the  black  people.  I  felt  more  like 
crying  than  I  ever  had  before  in  my  life  —  yes, 
I  wanted  to  sob  aloud  and  to  call  to  grand- 
mother to  come  back.  Little  sweet,  proud, 
loving,  laughing  grandmother!  But  I  kept 
very  still.  It  seemed  as  if  I  could  read  Keefe's 
thoughts  and  as  if  he  wxre  telling  me  to  be 
quiet.  So  I  said  over  and  over  to  myself  the 
last  line  of  a  lovely  poem  I  read  the  other 
day.     "  *  O  waters  of  quiet,  go  softly.'  " 

After  so  long  a  life,  one  must  be  glad  to  rest. 
I  found  out  that  night,  Carin,  how  that  death, 
like  life,  is  sweet  and  all  in  the  course  of  things 
and  nothing  to  be  afraid  of. 

Going  back  to  the  house  I  told  Keefe  that. 

"  Life  is  our  comrade,"  he  said,  "  but  death 
is  our  mother,  holding  out  kind  hands  to  us 
when  v/e  are  tired." 

When  he  left  me  he  —  he  kissed  me,  Carin. 
On  the  forehead.     I  shall  always  remember. 


"THE  WATERS  OF  QUIET"      187 

I  did  not  leave  my  room  the  next  day.  I 
wanted  to  think.  Old  Semmy  stayed  with  me. 
But  I  did  not  mind  her.  I  like  old  Semmy. 
She  rocks  to  and  fro  like  the  trees  and  seems 
to  be  waiting  to  give  comfort  when  comfort  is 
needed.  And  that  is  like  trees,  too.  After  my 
little  mama  died  I  used  to  wrap  my  arms  about 
the  trees  up  there  on  the  mountain-side  and 
w^eep  and  v/eep,  and  they  were  very  kind  to 
me  —  those  great  chestnuts  and  hemlocks.  But 
now  I  am  thinking  out  many  things.  I  couldn't 
have  written  to  anyone  save  you.  But  soon  I 
shall  write  dear  Mother  McBirney  and  Annie 
Laurie.     (I  have,  of  course,  sent  them  word.) 

Carin,  tell  me  if  you  love  me. 

Azalea 

******** 

Mallowbanks,  January  30th. 
Oh,  Carin-girl : 

Other  troubles  have  come  to  me  —  things  I 
never  dreamed  of.  I  don't  know  how  to  meet 
them.  They  aren't  things  like  death,  that  just 
have  to  be  accepted  with  courage.  No,  they 
are  things  I  have  to  decide  about.  I  have  to 
make  up  my  mind  what  is  right  and  what  is 


188         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

wrong.  I  never  knew  before  that  it  could  be 
hard  to  do  that. 

This  is  the  story:  Two  days  after  dear  little 
grandmother  was  buried,  I  was  told  that  the 
family  solicitor  would  be  at  the  house  at  three 
in  the  afternoon  and  that  the  will  would  be 
read,  and  I  was  expected  to  be  present.  So  I 
put  on  one  of  the  new  black  dresses  that 
tell  their  own  story,  and  when  the  time  came  I 
went  down  to  the  library.  Uncle  and  auntie 
were  there  before  me,  and  they  introduced  me 
to  Mr.  Lindsay,  and  then  when  the  servants 
had  come,  he  read  grandmother's  will. 

She  was  a  rich  woman,  of  course,  but  I  had 
not  guessed  how  rich,  and  she  gave  bequests  to 
Martha  and  James  which  would  make  it 
unnecessary  for  them  to  work  any  more,  with 
substantial  remembrances  to  the  other  servants, 
and  a  fine  sum  to  the  college  her  sons  attended, 
and  then  all  of  the  rest  she  divided  between 
Uncle  David  and  me. 

Only  — 

Only  I  was  not  to  have  mine  —  except  for  a 
small  annuity  —  unless  I  married  according  to 
Uncle  David's  wishes. 

This,  the  will  said,  was  not  because  of  lack 


"THE  WATERS  OF  QUIET"      189 

of  affection  for  me  or  lack  of  confidence  in  me, 
but  only  because  my  early  associations  were 
such,  and  I  was  of  such  an  impulsive  nature, 
that  I  was  in  danger  of  doing  something  I 
would  always  regret.  So  she  placed  me  lov- 
ingly in  her  son's  hands,  and  expected  me  to 
defer  to  his  judgment  in  all  things. 

Aunt  Lorena  looked  down  through  all  the 
reading  of  the  will,  and  when  it  was  all  over  I 
tried  to  take  her  hand,  but  she  wouldn't  let  me, 
and  it  was  Semmy  who  took  my  hand  and  led 
me  away  to  my  room.  I  lay  down  on  my 
lounge  and  thought  and  thought.  I  could  hear 
the  winter  wind  shouting  through  the  pines, 
and  outside  the  twilight  was  stormy  and  bleak. 
Semmy  wanted  to  build  up  a  fire  and  to  bring 
me  tea  there  in  my  room,  but  I  did  not  want  a 
fire  and  tea.  There  was  only  one  thing  in  the 
world  that  I  wanted  then,  and  I  knew  per- 
fectly well  what  it  was. 

It  was  Keefe  O'Connor. 

And  it  was  on  account  of  him  that  grand- 
mother had  made  that  will.  She  had  seen  that 
we  cared  for  each  other.  She  had  not  wanted 
me  to  marry  him.  I  knew  then  as  well  as  when 
Uncle  David  had  told  me,  that  she  particularly 


190         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

objected  to  him  —  that  is,  that  she  particularly 
objected  to  having  him  marry  me.  Not  that 
he  ever  really  asked  me  to,  or  that  we  would 
marry  for  years  and  years.  Yet  —  yet  I  know 
that  is  what  she  meant  when  she  made  that 
will. 

So  now,  Carin,  I  have  learned  my  second 
great  lesson  this  week.  The  first  was,  that 
there  could  not  be  life  without  death,  and  that 
if  life  is  sweet,  why  so  is  death  sweet  too; 
and  the  second  is  that  life  cannot  be  sweet 
without  liberty. 

Yes,  I  know  it  is  an  old,  old  truth,  and  that 
I  ought  to  have  known  it  long  ago.  But  to 
read  a  thing,  or  even  to  say  it,  is  very  different 
from  realizing  it. 

I  lay  there  asking  myself  if  freedom  meant 
more  to  me  than  anything  else.  And  I  decided 
that  it  did.  It  wasn't  Keefe,  merely,  that  made 
me  ask  this  question,  or  decide  in  this  way.  It 
was  the  whole  principle  of  the  thing.  Should 
I  sell  my  right  to  do  as  J  thought  best  —  to  do 
the  thing  that  would  bring  me  happiness  —  for 
the  sake  of  a  fortune? 

I  did  not  go  down  to  dinner.  Semmy  carried 
my  excuses  for  me. 


''THE  WATERS  OF  QUIET"      191 

Then,  a  little  later  in  the  evening  she  came 
to  ask  if  I  would  see  Mr.  Keefe  in  the  writing 
room.  That  was  the  room,  you  will  remember, 
where  we  all  sat  together  the  night  grand- 
mother told  us  the  story  about  Dorothy  Bings. 

I  said  I  would  go,  and  I  brushed  my  hair 
and  went  on  down  the  stairs.  Uncle  David  and 
Aunt  Lorena  were  sitting  in  the  library  and 
they  saw  me,  and  called  out  to  know  if  I  was 
feeling  better,  and  I  told  them  quite  frankly 
that  I  was  not  —  thank  them,  very  much. 

So,  with  them  looking  at  me,  I  went  on  to 
the  writing  room,  and  Keefe  stood  there  by 
the  door  waiting  for  me,  and  we  went  in  and 
sat  down  there,  one  on  each  side  of  the  table. 
There  was  no  firelight  this  time  to  cheer  us. 
The  room  was  so  chilly  that  it  made  my  teeth 
chatter,  but  I  did  not  really  think  about  that 
till  afterward. 

"  Mr.  Knox  has  told  me,"  said  Keefe  as 
soon  as  we  were  seated,  "  about  your  grand- 
mother's will.  He  has  said  that  he  hopes  I  will 
not  make  the  fulfillment  of  its  conditions  diffi- 
cult for  you." 

"  How  did  he  know  that  you  were  likely 
to?  "  I  asked. 


,192         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

"  He  could  not  very  well  help  but  know  that, 
Azalea.  Anyone  who  has  seen  me  with  you 
must  have  known  that  I  loved  you." 

"  Then  you  do?  "  I  said.    "  You  do,  Keefe?  " 

"  Why  should  I  need  to  take  the  trouble  to 
say  it?  "  he  demanded.  "  Haven't  you  known 
it  from  the  first?  " 

"I   have  hoped   it  —  sometimes." 

"  Hoped  it?  "  he  said.  "  Haven't  you  heard 
me  say  it?  " 

"Once  —  only  once.  But  I  thought  that 
might  have  been  an  accident." 

Oh,  Carin,  what  beautiful  eyes  he  has!  He 
took  my  hands  in  his  there  across  the  table. 
We  knew  quite  well  that  Aunt  Lorena  could 
see  us  from  where  she  sat,  but  we  did  not  care 
at  all. 

"  Did  you  promise  my  uncle  that  you  would 
not  make  it  hard  for  me?  " 

"  No.  I  said  if  you  wished  it  I  would  go 
away." 

"  Forever?  " 

"  Not  at  all.  For  the  present.  I  said  I 
would  go  away  and  give  you  a  chance  to  make 
up  your  mind.  Your  uncle  and  aunt  wish  to 
take  you  to  Europe  with  them.    They  want  you 


"THE  WATERS  OF  QUIET"      193 

to  travel  for  a  year  or  two.  You  will  meet 
other  men,  men  whose  lives  and  training  will 
make  them  fitter  companions  for  you  than  I 
can  ever  be." 

"Keefe!"  I  said  sharply.  "Don't  muddle 
up  facts  like  that.  Your  early  training  was 
propriety  itself  compared  with  mine." 

"  Nevertheless,  now  you  are  a  very  rich 
woman.  You  bear  the  name  of  an  old  and 
distinguished  family." 

"  Not  half  so  distinguished  as  the  O'Con- 
nors," I  laughed.  "  Weren't  they  kings  in 
Ireland  once?  " 

"  But  my  name  is  not  even  O'Connor,  as  you 
know." 

"  Well,  whatever  your  name  may  be  by 
rights,  Keefe  —  and  at  this  moment  I  have 
forgotten  what  it  is  —  there  is  one  word  I  can- 
not forget,  and  that  is  spelled  L-I-B-E-R-T-Y. 
In  America  we  have  always  had  a  regard  for 
that  little  word.  Perhaps  we  have  preferred 
it  to  any  in  the  language.  Hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  men  have  died  for  it,  and  as  many 
women  have  had  broken  hearts  because  of  it. 
I'm  not  going  to  be  behind  them  in  my  regard 
for  it.     I  —  have  you  asked  me?     I  love  you. 


194         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

Keefe.  I'd  rather  be  one  year  with  you  than, 
twenty  with  anybody  else.  I  shan't  mean  any- 
thing to  myself  if  I  try  to  live  my  life  away 
from  you.  I  choose  you,  Keefe.  I  set  the 
fortune  aside  and  choose  you." 

'^  No,  Azalea,"  he  said,  breathing  as  if  he 
had  been  running,  "  no,  you  mustn't  choose 
yet.  As  your  uncle  says,  it  isn't  fair.  I  ought 
to  go  away  —  I  ought  to  give  you  a  chance  to 
clear  your  mind.     It  isn't  clear  now  —  " 

"  But  I  want  you  to  stay,"  I  broke  in. 

And  just  then  Uncle  David  came  to  the  door. 

"  Nevertheless,  Azalea,"  he  said  quietly, 
"  Mr.  O'Connor,  having  finished  both  of  your 
grandmother's  portraits,  will  be  leaving  for  the 
North  to-morrow." 

"Oh,  but  why  to-morrow?"  I  cried. 

"  Because,"  he  said,  still  in  that  quiet  voice, 
"  it  is  best  so.  I  sympathize  with  you,  my  girl. 
But  believe  me,  it  is  best  so." 

That  is  the  way  it  stands,  Carin.  He  has 
gone.  It  is  very  quiet  here  in  the  house.  Miss 
Delight  Ravanel  has  asked  me  to  spend  a  week 
with  her  and  I  have  accepted. 

Always   icith    love, 

Azalea. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  FRIEND 

Monrepos,  January  28. 
Carin,  darling: 

Thank  you  for  all  your  letters.  You  are  very 
good  to  me.  No  matter  how  careless  I  am 
about  writing,  you  never  forget,  you  dear! 
And  now  I  think  I  am  to  send  you  congratula- 
tions because  you  are  engaged  to  that  fine  Vance 
Grevy.  Truly,  I  think  him  one  of  the  most 
interesting  young  men  I  have  ever  known. 
Moreover,  he  looks  good,  and  true,  and  firm 
and  enduring.  Oh,  little  Carin,  my  own  yellow- 
headed  one,  be  very  happy  with  him!  I  send 
you  a  thousand  kisses  and  ten  thousand  good 
wishes,  and  I  want  you  to  know  that  if  ever, 
ever  I  can  do  anything  for  you,  I  want  to  be 
allowed  to  do  it.  Please  find  something  for 
me  to  do.  You  must  not  be  so  happy  that  you 
will  forget  me.  I  have  always  known  there 
was  a  jealous  streak  in  my  disposition,  and  I 
am  feeling  it  right  now. 

195 


196         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

You  say  you  have  your  ring?  Your  engage- 
ment ring!  It's  not  like  other  engagement 
rings?  How  nice!  A  pink  pearl.  Weil, 
pearls  suit  you  just  as  they  do  your  darling 
mother. 

I  am  so  glad  that  she  and  your  father  like 
your  Vance.  Oh,  fortunate  girl!  Always 
beautiful  things  happen  to  you.  That,  of 
course,  is  just  as  it  ought  to  be.  I  hope  they 
will  keep  right  on  happening  to  you  all  through 
life. 

But,  once  more,  in  your  happiness,  do  not 
forget  your  Azalea.  For  she  is  not  very  happy. 
No,  though  now  she  has  much  money  and 
some  friends  —  you,  always,  and  Barbara  and 
Annie  Laurie,  not  to  mention  others — yet  she 
is  sad.    Things  are  wrong  —  quite  wrong. 

I  told  you  I  was  coming  over  here  to  visit 
Miss  Delight  Ravanel  at  her  quaint  old  home, 
which  she  calls  "  Monrepos."  Aunt  Lorena 
was  quite  willing  I  should  come.  She  and  I 
had  a  frank  talk  together,  and  now  I  under- 
stand many  things  that  I  did  not  before. 

"  I  am  going  to  ask  you.  Aunt  Lorena,"  I 
said  to  her,  "  if  you  truly  like  me.  You  mustn't 
be  polite,  please,  because  that  would  not  help 


A  FRIEND  197 

me  at  all.  You  asked  me  to  come  here,  and  I 
came,  and  you  have  been  very  kind,  and  I  have 
done  the  best  I  could.  But  lately  there  has 
been  a  change.  You  —  you  have  not  looked 
at  me  quite  the  way  you  used.  Or  at  any  rate, 
the  understanding  between  us  is  not  perfect. 
So  let  us  speak  out  and  say  what  we  really 
think." 

A  silly  woman  would  have  been  disagreeable, 
probably,  at  having  a  young  girl  speak  this 
way,  but  Aunt  Lorena  is  not  silly,  and  she  is 
not  disagreeable. 

"  Azalea,"  she  said  quietly,  "  I  truly  like 
you.  I  am,  indeed,  happily  surprised  in  you. 
I  like  you  better  as  a  house  companion  than  I 
thought  I  could  like  any  woman.  For,  to  tell 
the  truth,  I  am  not  a  social  person.  If  I  have 
not  looked  at  you  in  quite  the  old  way,  it  is 
because  I  feel  conscious  of  the  complications 
that  have  arisen.  I  do  not  believe.  Azalea,  in 
trying  to  influence  the  life  of  another  in  the 
way  that  your  grandmother  has  tried  to  influ- 
ence your  life.  It  is  not  right.  I  believe  that 
everyone  should  be  free  in  this  world,  so  far  as 
possible,  and  your  grandmother  has  taken  your 
freedom  away  from  you." 


198         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  she  has.  But  she  meant  to 
be  wise  and  kind  for  me.  I  loved  her,  Aunt 
Lorena,  and  I  always  shall." 

"  Are  you  willing  to  abide  by  the  terms  of 
her  will?  Are  you  willing  to  marry  the  man 
your  uncle  approves  of  —  the  man  who  will, 
according  to  your  grandmother's  idea,  bring 
credit  to  the  family?" 

She  looked  so  intense  and  sympathetic  that 
I  couldn't  help  laughing. 

"  I  am  willing  to  marry  just  one  man,"  I 
found  courage  to  say.  "  I  hope  uncle  will 
approve  of  him." 

"  If  you  mean  Keefe  O'Connor,"  she  said  in 
her  high  voice,  "  you  will  see  that  your  hopes 
are  not  realized.  Your  uncle  likes  him  very 
much  personally,  but  your  grandmother  did 
not.  Or  at  least,  she  did  not  approve  of  having 
him  enter  the  Knox  family.  It  was  to  keep 
him  from  doing  so  that  she  made  her  will  as 
she  did.     She  told  your  uncle  that." 

Carin,  was  it  very  bad  of  me  to  laugh  again. 

*'  Then,"  I  said,  "  I  shall  have  to  let  the 
fortune  go,  Aunt  Lorena." 

She  lifted  both  of  her  thin  white  hands  in 
warning. 


A  FRIEND  199 

"  That  is  very  easy  for  you  to  say,  my  dear, 
very  easy  indeed.  You  are  young  and  do  not 
know  the  value  of  money  and  of  position  and 
of  an  estate  like  this.  It  is  the  feeling  that  you 
do  not  realize  these  things,  that  made  it  neces- 
sary for  your  uncle  and  myself  to  ask  Mr. 
O'Connor  to  —  to  absent  himself  —  until  you 
have  had  time  to  make  up  your  mind.  We 
want  you  to  travel  and  to  see  the  world.  We 
w^ant  you  to  meet  people  and  to  have  a  chance 
to  compare  this  one  with  that.  But  when  we 
insist  upon  all  this,  it  may  seem  to  you  as  if 
we  were  opposing  you  and  setting  ourselves 
against  your  happiness,  whereas,  above  every- 
thing else,  we  want  to  do  what  is  for  your  best 
interest." 

She  looked  more  solemn  than  ever. 

"  You  are  going  against  your  own  heart, 
Auntie,"  I  told  her.  "  It  is  that  which  makes 
you  seem  so  changed.  Oh,  don't  think  about  it 
at  all.  Just  treat  me  the  way  you  did  at  first. 
Love  me,  love  me!  Somehow,  the  other  matter 
will  straighten  itself  out.  We  have  troubles 
enough  without  bringing  any  on  ourselves." 

But  she  wouldn't  take  the  matter  lightly.  She 
seemed  very  much  depressed.     Uncle  was  very 


200         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

sad,  too,  partly  on  account  of  the  loss  of  his 
mother,  partly  because  he  was  made  to  act  the 
part  of  a  '  stern  guardian,'  when  it  is  not  in 
keeping  with  his  nature.  I  feel  sure  he  tried 
to  dissuade  grandmother  from  doing  what  she 
did,  but  he  did  not  succeed.  I  think,  myself, 
that  if  people  at  Mallowbanks  had  more  to  do 
they  would  be  a  great  deal  happier. 

Well,  anyway,  I  kept  my  promise  to  my  nice 
twenty-seventh  cousin,  Miss  Ravanel,  and  came 
away  over  to  her,  and  was  put  in  a  quaint,  bare, 
sunny  room,  and  here  I  have  been  for  almost 
a  week.  My  chocolate  is  sent  up  to  my  bed  in 
the  morning;  Miss  Ravanel  does  not  appear 
until  ten.  Then  we  meet  in  the  morning  room 
and  she  embroiders  while  I  read  "  Lorna 
Doone  "  to  her.  She  has  been  in  England  in 
the  Lorna  Doone  country,  and  she  interrupts 
the  reading  to  tell  me  about  what  she  has  seen. 
It  is  very  interesting.  But,  Oh,  Carin,  it  is  as  if 
I  were  listening  to  something  afar  off,  and  as  if 
the  bright  fire  burning  in  the  grate,  the  pale 
sunshine  on  the  pines,  the  little  room  with  its 
fantastic  chintz,  were  all  a  dream. 

It  does  not  seem  real  at  all  to  me.     Is  it  be- 
cause I  am  always  thinking  of  something  else? 


A  FRIEND  201 

Did  I  do  well,  Carin,  to  give  up  my  life  with 
Mother  McBirney,  my  little  busy,  useful,  strug- 
gling life,  and  to  come  here  among  my  relatives, 
who  are,  after  all,  strangers?  Yes,  yes,  I  know 
that  for  a  time  I  felt  at  ease  with  them,  that 
to  be  among  my  own  people  brought  me  great 
delight.  But  now,  suddenly,  I  seem  useless  and 
stripped  of  all  that  made  life  rich. 

******** 

Carin,  I  have  just  been  reading  this  over, 
and  I  never  read  anything  more  dismal.  You 
remember  that  song  of  Jean  Ingelow's  where 
the  dove  sat  on  the  mast  and  mourned  and 
mourned  and  mourned.  Well,  I  sound  pre- 
cisely like  that  ridiculous  dove. 

I  know  if  you  were  here  you  would  give  me 
a  piece  of  your  mind.  So  would  Keefe.  So 
would  Annie  Laurie.  Actually  I  am  glad  none 
of  you  is  here.  Mercy  me,  how  you  would 
scold  me! 

It  has  occurred  to  me  during  the  last  minute 
and  a  half  that  I  haven't  been  treating  my  tre- 
mendously nice  little  hostess  very  well.  And 
how  good  she  has  been  to  me! 

I  am  going  to   reform.     I  shall   ask  her  if 


202         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

she'll  not  go  walking  —  she  loves  to  walk  — 
and  I  shall  suggest  visiting  old  Mrs.  Tread- 
way,  w^hom  Miss  Ravanel  likes  to  look  after. 

Carin,  forgive  me  for  being  such  a  dolorous 
creature.  And  you  so  happy,  too!  I  wanted  to 
do  something  for  you,  and  I  go  and  throw  cold 
water  on  your  sparkling  day  with  a  sighing, 
moaning  letter.     Shame  on  me. 

/  love  you, 

Azalea 

******** 

Monrepos,  February  1st. 
Carin  girl: 

So  you  are  to  be  at  Lee  for  the  spring  vaca- 
tion. What  fun!  Of  course  I  shall  try  to  get 
there.  I  feel  as  if  I  m.ust  see  you.  And  do  you 
really  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  vv^ant  me  to  go 
to  Europe  with  you,  Carin?  How  w^onderful 
that  would  be.  But  I  couldn't,  could  I?  If  I 
go  at  all  I  must  go  with  Uncle  David  and  Aunt 
Lorena.     So  that's  settled. 

What  do  you  think  Miss  Ravanel  and  I  have 
been  doing?  Making  dresses.  She  needed 
some  and  there  didn't  seem  to  be  anybody  at 
hand  to  make  them,  and  so  I  said  to  please  let 


A  FRIEND  203 

me  try.  At  first  she  thought  I  would  make  a 
botch  of  them.  But  not  at  all.  Mother  Mc- 
Birney  taught  me  to  be  very  particular,  and  I 
have  a  sort  of  a  "  touch  "  as  you  and  Annie 
Laurie  always  said.  The  dresses,  which  are  for 
spring,  are  really  very  nice.  She  said  she  never 
had  any  that  really  suited  her  so  well. 

While  we  sewed,  she  told  me  many  things 
about  her  life.  I  was  quite  right;  she  did 
love  my  Uncle  David  when  she  w^as  a  girl  and 
he  was  a  3^oung  man,  but  when  Aunt  Lorena 
came  back  from  boarding  school,  he  fell  ter- 
ribly in  love  with  her  and  went  to  Miss 
Ravanel  and  told  her,  and  she  bade  him  do 
whatever  his  heart  prompted. 

"  You're  not  going  to  hate  me,  are  you, 
Delight?"  he  asked  her. 

"Hate  you?"  she  said.  "Why  should  I 
hate  you?  I  w^ant  you  to  be  very  happy  and  I 
mean  to  be  happy  myself." 

"  You  will  marry  someone  much  more 
Vv^orthy  of  you  than  I  am,"  he  assured  her.  She 
said  that  was  as  might  be.  She  hoped  she 
would  love  someone  again.  But  she  never  did, 
Carin.  All  of  her  life  she  has  had  to  see  her 
kin  leaving  her,  either  to  go  to  some  other  part 


204         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

of  the  country,  or  Into  the  family  vault,  and 
never  once  has  she  met  anyone  she  could  care 
for.  But  she  says  she  has  been  quite  happy 
after  all. 

"  I  love  life,"  she  told  me.  "  I  like  to  watch 
the  seasons  roll  around,  and  I  enjoy  each  one 
as  it  comes.  I  am  never  tired  of  walking  about 
my  woods  and  my  garden,  and  it  amuses  me 
to  care  for  my  old  house.  I  enjoy  my  books, 
my  music  and  my  thoughts.  Sometimes  I  am 
glad  that  I  never  married.  I  have  fallen  into 
very  quiet  ways,  and  it  would  disturb  me  to 
have  anyone  about,  except  someone  like  your- 
self. Azalea." 

When  I  see  her,  so  shy  and  dainty  and  con- 
tent, going  about  her  little  duties  and  hospital- 
ities, I  am  glad,  too,  that  she  did  not  marry. 
She  is  like  a  little  domestic  nun.  I  like  her  the 
way  she  is. 

Uncle  and  Aunt  Lorena  called  this  morning 
to  ask  me  when  I  was  coming  home,  and  I  told 
them  I  would  come  any  time  they  liked,  and 
they  wanted  me  to  go  with  them  at  once,  but 
Miss  Ravanel  begged  that  I  might  stay  over 
one  Sunday  more.  She  wants  to  teach  me  to 
make  Washington  pie,   and  we  both  want   to 


A  FRIEND  205 

finish  "  Lorna  Doone."     So  I  am  staying.     I'm 
much  happier.     This  is  just  a  line  to  tell  you. 

Your  oivn 

Azalea 

******** 

Mallowbanks,  February  10. 
Dearest  Carin: 

We  are  getting  ready  to  go  to  England.  Aunt 
Lorena  is  having  a  charming  outfit  made  for 
me.  Now  that  she  and  I  really  understand 
each  other,  we  are  getting  along  together  beau- 
tifully. You  see,  she  is  a  frank,  straight-for- 
ward, fair-minded  woman  and  she  couldn't 
enjoy  herself  while  she  thought  I  was  not  being 
fairly  treated.  But  now  that  I  know  every- 
thing, and  that  she  sees  I  have  the  courage  to 
make  my  choice,  she  feels  better  about  it  all. 

I  wish  you  could  see  my  new  clothes.  They 
are  delightful,  and  so  becoming!  They  are 
very  practical  too.  We  are  not  going  to  take 
quantities  of  things,  because  it  would  only 
bother  us.  But  I  have  my  traveling  suit  of 
Scotch  cloth  in  a  small  blue  and  green  plaid, 
and  a  hat  of  blue  silk  braid  trimmed  with 
green,   and  a  steamer  rug  and  coat  that  look 


206         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

well  with  it;  and  then  two  little  silks  for  dinner, 
nights  when  we  are  stopping  at  any  rather 
fashionable  places  —  one  of  old  rose,  and  the 
other  of  dove  color.  The  pink  will  be  for 
gay  moods,  the  dove  color  for  pensive  ones. 
Then  there  is  my  street  suit  of  tan  with  shoes 
and  gloves  to  suit,  and  the  cleverest  hat  you 
ever  saw,  with  two  big  tawny  chrysanthemums 
on  it.  I  don't  seem  to  be  very  good  at  describ- 
ing clothes,  but  really,  as  I  said  at  the  begin- 
ning, these  things  are  charming. 

Then  to  think  of  seeing  England!  Me, 
Azalea!  I  don't  believe  it.  I  cannot  bring 
myself  to  see  that  it  can  possibly  be  true. 

Carin,  that  reminds  me:  Why  don't  you 
ask  Annie  Laurie  to  go  abroad  with  you?  Do 
you  know,  I  think  she  would  do  it.  I  remem- 
ber hearing  your  mother  say  to  her,  years  and 
years  ago,  that  some  day  she  and  Annie  Laurie 
would  be  together  in  Europe,  listening  to  great 
music.  And  why  not?  Annie  Laurie  could 
easily  afford  it.  Sam  Disbrow  is  through  with 
school  now,  and  he  could  look  after  Annie 
Laurie's  dairy.  Propose  it,  do.  Perhaps  we 
could  all  meet  over  there. 

I  must  run  down  to  see  Mother  McBirney 


A  FRIEND  207 

before  I  go.  Father  McBirney  is  almost  well 
and  hopes  to  reach  home  in  March  to  do  the 
plowing.  He  will  get  someone  to  help  him  of 
course,  for  Jim  is  to  stay  on  at  school.  I  have 
placed  a  certain  sum  in  the  bank  for  Jim  — 
enough  to  last  him  till  he  has  graduated  if  he 
is  careful.  And  Jim  is  careful.  I  made  up  my 
mind  that  whatever  happened,  I  was  going  to 
see  that  Jim  got  what  he  wanted  in  the  way 
of  an  education.  He  really  is  wonderfully 
bright  and  learns  so  fast  that  I  don't  see  how  he 
can  remember  all  that  he  crams  into  his  head. 

Keefe  doesn't  write.  That  was  a  part  of  the 
bargain  that  he  made  with  Uncle  David  —  that 
he  was  not  to  write. 

But  I  write  to  him. 

Is  that  terribly  bold? 

But  you  wouldn't  think  so  if  you  could  see 
the  letters.  Anyway,  sometimes  they  aren't 
letters.  They  are  just  envelopes  with  little 
poems  In  them  that  I  find  in  the  magazines  or 
newspapers  and  the  like.  Of  course,  some- 
times I  write  a  poem,  too.  About  daffodils, 
you  know,  or  sunsets,  or  rainy  days.  Never 
anything  sentimental.  Not  at  all.  Or  per- 
sonal.     I    wouldn't    be    personal.      I    merely 


208         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

remind  Keefe  that  I  am  alive.  A  couple  of 
violets  in  a  blank  sheet  of  paper  will  do  that 
nicely.  Aunt  Lorena  knows.  She  doesn't 
approve.  Not  quite,  that  is.  She  says  it  is 
foolish.  So  since  then  I've  only  been  sending 
little  drawings  —  pictures  of  people  who  call, 
and  one  of  the  Grevy's  parrot,  and  another  of 
some  geese  I  saw  flying  north.  They  are  such 
bad  drawings  that  they  are  quite  sure  to  annoy 
Keefe.  I  pointed  out  their  badness  to  Aunt 
Lorena. 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  a  good  idea  to  annoy  him?  " 
I  asked.  "  Now  just  look  at  this  sketch  of  a 
cat  which  I  mean  to  send  him.  That  cat  will 
make  him  furious.  I  tried  to  foreshorten  it, 
but  I  seem  to  have  performed  a  surgical  opera- 
tion on  it  instead." 

^'  He'll  have  you  arrested  for  cruelty  to 
animals,"  she  agreed.  "  But  really.  Azalea,  I 
wish  you  would  keep  perfectly  silent.  This 
young  man  does  not  write  to  you.  Are  you 
doing  what  is  dignified?  " 

"  Aunt  Lorena,"  I  said,  shaking  my  finger  at 
her,  "  my  own  private  opinion  is  that  he  is  writ- 
ing to  me  every  night  of  his  life,  and  filing 
the  letters  away  for  future  reference." 


A  FRIEND  209 

Aunt  Lorena  lifted  her  eyebrows  very,  very 
high.    I  smiled. 

"What  are  you  laughing  at,  Azalea?"  she 
asked  sharply. 

"  At  your  Gothic  eyebrows,  dearest  Auntie," 
I  said.    Then  I  kissed  her. 

"  Don't  ask  me  to  be  too  dignified,"  I  begged. 
"  I'm  only  Azalea." 

"  Azalea  Knox  is  a  very  pleasing  and  inter- 
esting young  woman  of  a  good  deal  of 
importance  in  the  world,  if  she  would  only 
realize  it,"  she  said. 

I  looked  at  her  a  moment. 

"  She's  not  so  very,  very  happy,"  I  said.  The 
tears  came  in  her  eyes,  and  her  eyebrows  were 
not  pointed  at  all.  Really,  Aunt  Lorena  is  a 
dear.  You  just  have  to  break  through  her  crust. 
The  only  trouble  is  that  the  crust  grows  over, 
and  you  have  to  keep  breaking  through.  It 
makes  you  feel  a  little  like  an  Eskimo,  fishing. 

"  I  am  truly  sorry,"  she  said.  "  But  I  think 
if  she  is  a  really  obedient  and  patient  girl  that 
some  day  she  will  be  very  happy,  and  that  she 
will  thank  the  friends  who  now  seem  to  her  to 
be  afflicting  her." 

We  didn't  say  anything  for  a  few  minutes. 


210         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

Then  I  ventured: 

"  Then  you  really  think  I  ought  not  to  send 
anything  to  Keefe?  Not  even  this  terrible 
drawing  of  a  cat?  Not  even  to  make  him 
laugh  and  —  and  hold  me  in  contempt?" 

She  laughed  at  that. 

"  Not  for  any  reason  at  all,"  she  said. 

''  Then,  Aunt  Lorena,  let  me  send  word  just 
once  more  —  only  once.     It  will  be  the  end." 

"The  end?" 

"  I  will  never  direct  another  envelope  of  any 
sort  to  him  till  he  writes  to  me.  If  he  has 
given  his  word,  he  will  not  do  that  until  —  " 

"  Until?  "  Her  eyebrows  were  Gothic  arches 
again. 

"  Until  we  find,  beyond  all  question,  that  we 
cannot  live  apart." 

''  Piffle,"  she  said.  "  One  can  live  without 
anyone.  It  is  a  mere  question  of  making  up 
one's  mind." 

I  sent  Keefe  the  terrible  little  picture  of  the 
cat. 

"  Keefe,"  I  wrote  him,  "  please  excuse  me  for 
being  a  bold-faced  minx.  I  must  be  one,  or  I 
wouldn't  have  sent  you  poems  and  violets  and 
things.     Kindly  observe  this  drawing  of  a  cat. 


A  FRIEND  211 

It  is  a  cat,  I  don't  care  what  you  say.  She 
looks  as  I  feel,  somewhat  cramped.  But  she 
is  a  good  cat,  and  I  am  a  good,  obedient  girl. 
I  shall  waste  no  more  stamps  on  you.  I  am 
going  to  England,  and  I  am  commanded  to  be 
very  happy.  So,  since  I  am  obedient,  pray 
think  of  me  as  being  not  only  happy  but  gay." 
I  signed  my  name  to  it  —  just  "Azalea"  — 
and  sent  it  ofif.     Now  I  shall  write  no  more. 

Farewell, 

Azalea 

P.  S.  I  wish  you  could  see  my  traveling  veil. 
It  looks  like  a  peacock's  breast.  Clothes  are 
nice,  aren't  they?  I  never  realized  before  how 
nice  they  are. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  TRAVEL  LOG 

London!    London!    London! 

April  tenth. 
Car  in  J  my  dear: 

I  haven't  been  writing  to  you  because  I 
haven't  thought  best.  I  didn't  want  to  put 
myself  on  record.  I  have  been  keeping  my 
thoughts  to  myself,  and  I  never  could  have 
done  that  successfully  if  I  had  been  gossiping 
to  you,  could  I?  Anyway,  I  knew  you  were 
particularly  happy  and  busy.  You  were  down 
to  Lee  for  the  spring  vacation  I  suppose  and 
opened  up  the  Shoals,  and  had  your  own 
Vance  Grevy  there,  and  delightful  people  to 
meet  him  and  all  that.  Then  you  went  back 
to  Vassar.  And  in  tw^o  months  you  will  be 
graduating,  and  then  you  and  your  people  will 
come  over  to  Europe,  bringing,  I  hope,  Annie 
Laurie  with  you.  I  believe  you  agreed  with 
me  that  it  would  be  a  fine  thing  for  both  of 
you  if  she  would  join  you. 

212 


A  TRAVEL  LOG  213 

As  for  me,  I  have  been  living  in  two  worlds 
at  once:  this  mellow,  storied  world  of  England, 
and  my  own  little  secret  world  of  memories 
and  dreams.  We  have  had  unusual  oppor- 
tunities for  seeing  the  real  English  life.  Both 
Aunt  Lorena  and  Uncle  David  have  relatives 
and  friends  here,  and  we  have  been  entertained 
in  a  number  of  homes  very  graciously  indeed. 

I  like  the  English  people.  They  are  not 
always  fizzing  and  bubbling  like  Americans. 
There  is  a  repose  about  them  and  a  quietness 
of  character  that  rests  me.  It  even  rests  me 
from  my  fizzly  and  bubbly  self. 

But  deep  down,  Carin,  beneath  all  the  effer- 
vescence, there  is  something  very  quiet  and 
peaceful  in  me.  When  I  am  alone,  after  the 
day  of  sight-seeing  and  chattering  and  laugh- 
ing and  admiring,  I  and  this  Still  Soul  of  mine 
sit  down  together  and  commune. 

Then  I  am  no  longer  foolish.  I  am  some- 
thing that  —  how  shall  I  put  it?  Something 
that  forever  strives!  Is  that  it?  I  want  to  do 
well  with  my  little  life,  Carin.  I  want  to  spin 
my  silver  web  very  beautifully,  so  that  when  I 
am  old,  and  the  web  is  all  but  done,  I  can  look 
it  over  and  be  satisfied  with  it. 


214         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

I  have  been  keeping  a  diary,  and  in  it  are 
descriptions  of  all  the  places  I  have  seen  and 
the  record  of  what  I  have  done  each  day.  When 
we  get  together  again  I  shall  show  this  to  you, 
and  then  you  can  read  all  about  what  has 
been  happening  to  me.  But  having  written 
those  descriptions  once,  I  don't  at  all  feel  like 
doing  it  again. 

Anyway,  what  is  the  use?  You  have  seen  all 
of  these  places.  They  were  an  old  story  to  you 
before  I  so  much  as  thought  of  coming  over 
here.  But  I  do  love  London!  Uncle  and  auntie 
have  seen  it  before,  and  they  get  tired  of 
wandering,  so  I  am  put  in  the  care  of  an  excel- 
lent Englishwoman  who  knows  everything, 
apparently,  and  who  is  paid  to  pass  on  as  much 
of  her  information  to  me  as  she  possibly  can. 
Her  voice  is  very  monotonous,  unfortunately, 
so  that  I  find  myself  nodding  right  on  the 
busses,  in  the  midst  of  her  discourses,  and  I  am 
afraid  I  am  not  learning  one-tenth  of  what  I 
ought. 

But  at  odd  moments  I  catch  sight  of  things 
that  enchant  me. 

The  other  day  she  and  I  were  going  to  the 
Tate   Gallery  together,   and   after   leaving   the 


A  TRAVEL  LOG  215 

bus  we  came  out  on  the  Embankment  by  means 
of  a  curious  little  street,  and  suddenly,  Carin, 
we  were  face  to  face  with  some  sort  of  a  ship 
wrecking  place.  It  looked  as  if  it  had  been 
there  for  hundreds  of  years.  The  great  enclo- 
sure was  heaped  up  with  parts  of  ships,  with 
the  giant  beams  and  the  masts,  and  hulls,  and, 
more  interesting  than  all  the  rest,  with  count- 
less   figureheads. 

Of  course  I  knew  that  nearly  every  ship 
carries  its  figure  at  its  bow.  It  was  for  such 
a  purpose  that  the  beautiful  Victory  of 
Samothrace  was  built,  wasn't  it?  But  not  until 
I  had  seen  these  great  wooden  creatures,  made 
to  represent  Neptune  and  Boreas  and  Victory 
and  Venus  and  mermaids  and  angels,  and 
heaven  knows  what,  did  I  have  any  idea  what 
care  the  ship  builders  put  on  these  figures. 

Miss  Sheepshanks,  my  chaperon,  of  course 
didn't  want  me  to  stop  to  look  at  them.  She 
was  telling  about  the  pictures  waiting  for  us 
at  the  gallery,  and  reminding  me  of  the  closing 
hour,  et  cetera,  et  cetera,  but  for  once  I  was 
determined  to  have  my  way.  So  I  pleaded  with 
her  until  she  allowed  me  to  go  in.  There  was 
a  white-headed  old  man  in  charge,  whose  face 


216         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

simply  shone  when  I  told  him  I  would  like  to 
walk  around  and  look  at  his  figureheads.  So 
we  went  side  by  side,  Miss  Sheepshanks  fol- 
lowing, looking  as  grieved  as  she  could,  and 
that  darling  old  man  told  me  stories  about  the 
ships  these  figures  had  come  from. 

I  swear  to  you  they  literally  smelled  of  the 
seven  seas!  Ah,  such  strange,  weird  creatures 
as  some  of  them  were,  and  their  battered  forms 
told  their  own  story  of  the  storms  they  had 
weathered  and  the  sights  they  had  seen. 

"  What  a  heap  of  stories  you  must  know," 
I  said  to  him. 

"Stories?"  he  repeated  looking  at  me  with 
his  old,  bright  eyes.  "  Every  ship  could  tell 
as  many  stories  as  would  make  an  Arabian 
Nights.  If  I  started  in,  miss,  telling  the  stories 
I  know,  I  should  never  be  done  till  the  day  of 
my  death." 

''  I  do  wish  I  lived  near  here,"  I  couldn't 
help  saying;  "then  I  could  come  over  and 
listen  when  you  were  not  busy.  That  is,  if  you 
would  be  willing  to  tell  some  of  your  stories 
to  me." 

"  It  would  put  life  into  my  old  age,"  he  said 
earnestly.     "  Now,   miss,    I'm   something  of   a 


A  TRAVEL  LOG  217 

reader  in  my  way.  There  is  a  library  near  that 
I  get  my  boOxks  from,  for  thripence  a  day.  Not 
bad,  is  it?  Even  a  poor  man  can  afford  that, 
miss.  But  when  I  read  the  tales,  I  think  to 
myself:  'Why  don't  some  of  you  writing 
fellows  come  around  here  and  ask  the  old  man 
a  few  questions?  He  could  tell  you  tales  of 
the  salt  seas  that  w^ould  make  men's  hair 
bristle.'  " 

Miss  Sheepshanks  seemed  to  think  this  was 
terribly  strong  language  for  me  to  hear,  and 
she  tried  to  hasten  me  away,  but  I  wouldn't 
go  till  I  had  told  him  the  story  of  Samuel 
Bings  and  had  a  wonderful  story  from  him  in 
return.  I  noted  it  all  down  in  my  diary,  and 
you  shall  read  that,  too.  We  went  to  the 
Gallery  after  that,  and  saw  some  beautiful  pic- 
tures, but  I  am  such  a  silly  that  my  mind  kept 
going  back  to  that  old  man  and  the  stories  he 
could  tell,  and  when  we  came  out  I  insisted  on 
going  by  his  place  again,  and  we  could  see  him 
inside  his  little  office,  making  his  own  tea.  So 
the  next  day,  without  telling  anyone,  I  sent  him 
a  pound  of  tea  in  a  queer  Chinese  cannister, 
just  saying  it  was  from  the  girl  who  liked 
stories. 


218         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

Well,  well,  I  shan't  see  him  again.  They 
hedge  me  around  in  every  way.  A  maid  or  a 
chaperon  must  be  with  me  every  minute.  How 
I  wish  I  were  free  to  go  about  and  get 
acquainted  w^ith  people!  They — I  mean  Aunt 
Lorena  and  all  the  powers  of  propriety  —  seem 
to  think  that  if  I  did  I  would  have  some  awful 
mishap.  But  do  you  know,  Carin,  I  don't  think 
that  would  be  the  case.  I  feel  as  if  right  at  my 
hand  there  may  be  someone  I  ought  to  be 
knowing  and  who  ought  to  be  knowing  me. 

That  reminds  me  of  what  I  so  long  dreamed 
of  doing  down  in  Lee.  Not  only  was  I  going 
to  take  charge  of  the  Industries  and  help  the 
mountain  people  as  they  never  were  helped 
before,  but  I  was  going  to  have  a  home  which 
should  be  open  to  every  passer-by.  Before  it 
was  to  be  a  spring  of  water —  I  know  the  very 
spring  —  where  people  could  stop  for  a  cold 
drink,  and  beside  the  spring  would  be  seats 
where  they  could  rest.  Not  far  down  the 
road  there  would  be  a  trough  for  horses  and 
another  for  dogs;  and  in  my  cupboard  would 
always  be  something  for  whomever  was  hungry. 
It  would  not  matter  how  poor  or  soiled  or 
strange  any  passer-by  might  be,  he  or  she  should 


A  TRAVEL  LOG  219 

come  in  and  sit  beside  my  hearth  and  have  of 
my  best.  Even  very  wicked  people  could  come 
in.  And  men  on  the  chain  gang,  mending  the 
road  —  how  I  would  like  to  take  them  out  a 
fine  dinner  and  let  them  know  I  believed  in 
them.  Perhaps  they  would  let  me  eat  with 
them,  and  then  maybe  I  could  find  out  what 
they  were  really  thinking. 

Carin,  that  is  what  I  want  more  than  any- 
thing, I  believe,  to  know  what  other  people  are 
really  thinking.  I  can't  tell  you  how  it  inter- 
ests, nay,   absorbs  me! 

But  in  the  sort  of  life  that  I  lead  now,  no 
one  speaks  out  and  says  what  he  thinks.  We 
are  endlessly  polite.  We  all  say  the  same  thing. 
We  all  do  the  same  things.  At  times,  it  is  true, 
I  see  someone  looking  at  me  with  the  eyes  of 
true  friendship,  but  we  are  parted  by  the 
people  about  us,  and  we  do  not  really  become 
acquainted.  So  I  am  very  lonely,  in  spite  of 
all  that  is  interesting  and  beautiful  about  me, 
and  I  wish  vou  and  I  and  Annie  Laurie  were 
sitting  together  up  in  your  little  studio-room, 
with  the  world  far  from  us,  and  just  we  three 
opening  our  hearts  to  each  other. 

I  have  been  out  to-day  selecting  some  pres- 


220         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

ents  for  friends  back  at  home,  and  I  enjoyed 
that  very  much.  Do  you  know,  I  couldn't 
resist  getting  something  for  those  two  lonely 
women,  the  Wixons,  up  on  Hebron  mountain 
—  the  ones  whose  soup  I  ate  uninvited.  If  ever 
I  get  back  to  Lee,  I  shall  ride  up  and  get 
acquainted  with  those  women.  Isn't  it  curious 
how  people  draw  you  and  draw  you,  even 
people  you  have  never  met,  but  know  only  by 
report?  As  for  those  you  do  know,  they  can 
draw  you  half  around  the  world.  Yes,  out  of 
the  millions  and  millions  of  human  beings  on 
this  old  globe,  there  will  be  but  two  or  three, 
perhaps,  who  are  verily  your  own,  and  those 
you  must  have. 

A  young  man  called  on  uncle  yesterday, 
bearing  a  letter  of  introduction.  He  lives,  I 
believe,  in  Baltimore,  and  his  name  is  Gerald 
Hargreaves.  His  father  was  a  friend  of  uncle's, 
and  some  mutual  friend  who  knew  that  uncle 
was  over  here,  gave  him  the  letter.  I  don't 
think  he  was  very  keen  about  presenting  it,  but 
we  are  glad  he  did,  for  he  seems  a  delightful 
young  man.  Uncle  David  took  to  him  at 
once,  and  so,  for  the  matter  of  that,  did  Aunt 
Lorena  and  I.     He  is  an  athletic  young  person 


A  TRAVEL  LOG  221 

with  a  general  blond  appearance  and  a  nice 
voice.  He  seems  modest,  too,  and  genial.  He 
finished  college  last  year  and  has  been  traveling 
around  Europe,  but  he  means  to  go  back  home 
soon  and  settle  down.  He  is  to  follow  the 
custom  of  his  family  and  go  into  the  railroad 
business.  Naturally,  we  talked  about  railroads 
a  good  deal,  and  the  methods  of  home  and 
foreign  travel.     He  turned  to  me  and  said: 

"  What  is  your  favorite  means  of  travel, 
Miss  Knox?  "  And  before  I  thought  how  it 
would  sound  I  replied: 

"  Oh,  nag  travel." 

Aunt  Lorena  looked  rather  embarrassed,  but 
Uncle  David  roared. 

"  My  niece  is  a  true  Southern  mountaineer," 
he  said,  "  and  she  isn't  afraid  of  anything  in 
the  way  of  horseflesh." 

"  Though  I  have  been  thrown,"  I  admitted, 
looking  at  Uncle  David  and  thinking  of  the 
fateful  day  that  Paprika  scampered  up  the 
mountain  away  from  Uncle  David's  machine. 

"  Fortunately,"  said  Uncle  David,  and  left 
the  young  man  to  figure  out  what  that  might 
mean. 

"  I'm  glad  you  think  it  was  fortunate,  dear," 


222         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

I  whispered  to  him.  He  gave  my  hand  a  little 
squeeze  under  the  table  —  we  were  at  tea  — 
and  I  felt  my  heart  warm  up.  When  I  think 
that  Uncle  David  loves  me  it  brightens  up 
everything;  but  he  is  a  quiet  man  and  does  not 
say  much.  He  likes  to  go  his  own  way  and 
amuse  himself  after  his  own  fashion,  and  he 
doesn't  wish  to  be  bothered  all  of  the  time  by 
paying  attention  to  those  around  him.  As  for 
Aunt  Lorena,  she  takes  life  as  it  comes.  She  is 
very  philosophical  and  patient  and  proud,  and 
she  sinks  back  into  her  easy  feminine  place 
and  doesn't  question  anything.  The  trouble 
with  me  is  that  I'm  nearly  bursting  with 
questions. 

^' Ought  I  to  do  this?  Ought  I  to  think 
that?  Am  I  making  the  most  of  my  opportu- 
nities? Am  I  being  myself,  Azalea,  or  am  I 
imitating  these  others?  Am  I  of  any  use  or 
am  I  just  consuming  good  oxygen  and  nice  food 
and  getting  in  the  way  generally?" 

That's  how  I  keep  at  it.  I  don't  seem  to 
be  able  to  give  myself  any  rest,  but  must  always 
be  badgering  myself  like  that. 

We  are  all  going  to  the  theater  to-night  to 
see  "  A  Winter's  Tale."     Mr.  Hargreaves  goes 


A  TRAVEL  LOG  223 

with  us.  I  shall  wear  my  white  silk  and  my 
peach-blow  silk  jacket.  They  are  charming 
together.  I  have  a  fillet  of  silver  wheat  for  my 
hair.  Yesterday  I  sewed  little  perfume  bags 
—  with  violet  powder  in  them  —  in  all  of  my 
frocks.  Violet  is  the  pleasantest  of  the  per- 
fumes, I  think.  Though  Aunt  Lorena  uses 
w^hite  rose.  What  is  3^our  favorite,  Carin?  I 
have  forgotten.  Or  perhaps  when  you  and  I 
saw  each  other,  I  was  not  thinking  much  about 
perfumes. 

Well,  now  I  think  about  all  such  things.  I 
have  learned  to  approve  of  certain  makes  of 
gloves  and  to  disapprove  of  others.  I  know 
what  sort  of  laces  an  unmarried  girl  should 
wear,  and  what  ones  should  be  reserved  for 
married  ladies.  I  know  —  Oh,  I  know  a  thou- 
sr^nd  things!  I  hope  little  madam  grandmother 
w^ould  approve  of  me.  Though  she  is  gone,  I 
still  try  to  please  her.  Sometimes,  when  I  have 
tried  particularly  hard  to  be  polite  and  gay 
the  way  she  would  like  me  to  be,  I  fancy  I 
feel  her  little  jeweled  hand  on  my  head  and 
that  I  hear  her  say: 

"  You  are  doing  very  well  indeed,  my  dear. 
Really,   I   could   ask  nothing  more  of  you." 


224         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

What  a  pity  grandmother  could  not  have 
passed  on  her  charm  as  well  as  her  money  to 
me! 

But  I  am  thankful  for  the  money,  though 
money  can  never  play  a  tremendously  large 
part  in  my  life,  because  it  is  so  much  less 
interesting  than  some  other  things.  But  as  I 
said,  I  have  been  out  shopping,  and  you  ought 
to  see  what  I  bought  Annie  Laurie  —  a  picture 
of  the  sea  that  I  know  she  will  love.  And  I 
got  a  watch  for  Paralee  Panther  —  a  wrist 
watch.  She's  really  a  school-teacher  at  last, 
as  I  think  I  told  you,  so  the  watch  will  be 
useful.  But  I  have  presents  for  everybody. 
Buying  these  things  for  the  people  dear  to 
me  keeps   me  from   feeling  homesick. 

Good  night,  Carin.  It  is  time  to  dress  for 
dinner.  And  after  that  comes  the  theater,  and 
I  am  glad.  I  do  love  the  theater!  And  best 
of  all  I  enjoy  the  moment  when  the  curtain 
begins  to  rise.  It  is  such  a  throbbing  moment. 
What  will  one  see?  What  story  is  to  be  told? 
Will  one  forget  that  it  is  a  play  and  believe 
it  all  to  be  true?  Will  one  like  life  better 
for  having  seen  it?  Will  one  go  out  dancing 
or  weeping? 


A  TRAVEL  LOG  225 

Oh,  it's  a  great  moment  when  the  curtain 
begins  to  rise. 

Azalea 

Como,  August  13. 
Oh,  my  dear  neglected  friend: 

I  meant  to  have  sent  you  a  dozen  letters 
between  my  last  one  and  this,  but  we  have  been 
so  busy  that  I  simply  could  not  write.  I 
thought  I  was  a  particularly  strong  person, 
but  I  give  you  my  word,  Carin,  that  at  the  end 
of  a  day  of  sight-seeing  I  am  glad  to  eat  my 
dinner  and  slip  into  my  bed.  However,  there 
is  usually  something  required  of  me  between 
the  eating  of  the  dinner  and  the  seeking  of 
my  couch,  for  we  have  been  entertaining  much, 
and  have  been  much  entertained. 

We  left  London  late  in  May  and  sailed  to 
Genoa,  and  since  then  we  have  been  seeing 
Italy.  As  it  chanced.  Aunt  Lorena  fell  in  with 
some  old  friends  who  have  been  living  for  years 
near  Fiesole,  and  they  decided  to  journey  with 
us.  This  has  given  us  the  entree  to  many 
homes  which  we  should  otherwise  not  have 
seen,  and  it  has  all  been  very  gay  and  diverting. 


226         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

Never  have  I  loved  any  place  as  I  do  Italy. 
Such  beauty,  such  pathos!  I  cannot  express  all 
I  feel,  though  my  diary  shall  some  day  show 
you  that  I  have  tried.  But  more  of  that  some 
other  time,  dear  girl.  I  insist  that  we  must 
be  together  this  winter  for  a  while.  Am  I 
right  in  thinking  you  will  go  home  for  the 
winter,  and  that  you  are  to  have  the  delicious 
experience  of  preparing  your  trousseau  there 
in  your  own  dear  old  home?  I  want  to  help 
with  that.  I  have  hunted  out  a  few  little 
things  that  may  find  a  place  in  it,  and  I  want 
to  use  my  needle  in  your  service. 

Mr.  Hargreaves  has  been  everywhere  with 
us.  I  thought  it  odd  of  him  to  accompany  us 
to  Venice  and  to  Rome,  since  he  had  been  in 
both  places  only  a  few  months  ago.  But  it 
was  his  affair.  There  was  nothing  to  keep  him 
from  visiting  both  places  again  if  he  chose.  Of 
course  he  has  added  to  my  pleasure,  being 
nearer  my  age  than  any  of  the  others.  Uncle 
and  Aunt  Lorena  appear  to  have  much  satis- 
faction from  his  presence,  too.  They  like  him 
immensely  and  talk  about  him  a  great  deal. 
They  think  him  brilliant,  but  I  am  not  sure 
that  I   do.     His  mind  clings  too  long  to  one 


A  TRAVEL  LOG  227 

subject.  I  like  a  little  more  agility.  Weren't 
you  always  amused  at  the  way  the  minds  of 
Mary  Cecily  and  her  brother  danced  from 
subject  to  subject?  It  was  touch  and  go  with 
them.  All  they  needed  was  half  a  sentence  — 
they  understood  the  rest  before  it  was  spoken. 

I  think  myself  that  no  one  ought  to  visit 
Venice  except  with  her  own  true  love.  To 
float  over  those  moonlit  canals  to  the  sound 
of  music,  between  those  regal,  slumbering  pal- 
aces in  the  company  of  mere  casual  acquaint- 
ances or  elderly  relatives  is  too  much  to  ask 
of  anyone. 

We  foui,  uncle,  auntie,  Mr.  Hargreaves  and 
I,  were  much  in  the  gondolas,  going  now  here, 
now  there,  seeing  strange  old  things  and  dream- 
ing old  dreams.  Not  at  all,  I  am  sure,  because 
he  cares  for  me,  but  just  because  the  surround- 
ings were  too  much  for  him,  Mr.  Hargreaves 
W'as  inclined  to  be  —  well,  a  trifle  sentimental. 
But  I  couldn't  endure  that.  Having  the  wrong 
man  make  love  is  worse  than  going  without  — 
Oh,  much!  But  I  didn't  want  to  hurt  his 
feelings,  so  I  took  it  all  as  a  joke,  and  told 
him  to  hold  Aunt  Lorena's  hand;  that  she 
was  a  much  more  sentimental   person  than   I. 


228         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

He  sent  me  flowers  every  morning,  but  I 
wouldn't  keep  them.  There  was  a  sweet  Eng- 
lish girl  there  who  was  not  well,  and  I  made 
her  take  most  of  them.  The  rest  I  threw  in 
the  canal  —  not  as  an  insult  to  the  flowers  or 
their  giver,  but  because,  when  I  was  gondola 
riding,  it  gave  me  pleasure  to  throw  out  a 
rose  now  and  then  and  see  it  drift  w^ith  the 
tide.  Aunt  Lorena  wasn't  sure  that  I  was 
being  kind  to  her  friend,  but  I  was,  really. 
It  wouldn't  have  been  at  all  kind  to  let  him 
think  I  cared  when  I  didn't,  w^ould  it,  dear? 

We  met  a  bright  young  fellow  the  other 
day  who  had  studied  at  the  Academy  of  Design 
with  Keefe,  and  he  said  he  thought  Keefe  had 
decided  to  go  into  landscape  work  instead  of 
portraits,  after  all,  which  seems  rather  odd 
considering  what  a  success  he  was  making  with 
portraits.     I  said: 

"Why  do  you  think  he  changed?" 

"  Oh,  it's  hard  to  say,"  he  answered.  "  Keefe 
doesn't  seem  the  fellow  he  used  to  be.  You 
remember  how  jolly  he  was,  and  how  he  loved 
company?  It  is  different  with  him  now.  He 
keeps  much  to  himself  and  works  beyond  all 
reason.      I    believe    in    being    industrious,    but 


A  TRAVEL  LOG  229 

there's  no  use  in  being  a  fanatic  about  work." 
"  But  is  he  well?  Does  he  look  as  he  used?  " 
Suddenly  I  remembered  that  he  had  come 
south  years  ago  because  his  lungs  were  not 
strong,  and  I  turned  cold  at  the  thought  that 
the  trouble  that  had  threatened  him,  might 
really  have  come  back  and  fastened  itself  on 
him. 

"  Oh,  he  looks  well  enough,"  the  young  man 
replied.  "  Only  a  little  wild  and  queer.  But 
O'Connor  is  queer,  don't  you  think  so?  A  sign 
of  genius,  no  doubt.  He  had  a  strange  bring- 
ing up,  hadn't  he?  He's  a  gentleman,  of 
course;  any  one  can  see  that;  but  he's  rather 
adventurous  too;  a  strange  mixture." 

I  didn't  know  what  to  say.  I  felt  I  should 
betray  myself  if  I  talked  about  him  any  longer, 
so  I  only  ventured: 

"  He  has  a  charming  sister.  She  is  one  of 
my   best   friends." 

"Really?"  said  the  young  man.  "Well,  I 
hear  O'Connor  is  putting  up  a  studio  some- 
where in  the  Blue  Ridge  and  that  he  means  to 
try  his  hand  at  interpreting  the  mountains, 
but  I  think  myself,  he  had  better  have  stuck 
to  portraits." 


230         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

''  Very  likely,"  said  L 

I  have  heard  many  conversations  during  the 
last  few  w^eeks,  Carin,  but  that  is  the  only  one 
I    remember. 

How  good  to  be  able  to  write  you  like  this! 
I  am  so  tired  of  keeping  things  to  myself.  We 
shall  be  starting  for  home  some  time  in  Octo- 
ber, I  believe.  I  shall  hope  to  write  you,  but 
if  I  do  not,  think  of  me  still,  in  spite  of  all 
silences,  as 

Your  loving  friend, 

Azalea 


CHAPTER  XIII 

CROSSROADS 

Mallovvbanks,  November  15. 
Carin,  always  best  and  dearest: 

Here  I  am,  back  again.  Back  from  Eng- 
land, back  from  Italy.  The  first  seemed  to 
me  like  the  great  Mother  of  my  Mind;  the 
second  like  the  eternal  Mother  of  my  Soul. 
Always,  as  long  as  I  live,  I  shall  dream  of 
them. 

And  this  is  a  good  place  for  dreaming. 
Indeed,  there  is  little  else  to  do  here.  The 
old  house  lies  in  perpetual  quiet.  The  garden 
is  dead  again.  You  will  remember  that  I 
have  only  seen  it  when  it  was  dead.  I  did 
not  mean  to  do  it,  but  by  accident,  when  I  was 
walking  in  it,  I  came  on  the  little  pool  where 
my  darling  grandmother  was  drowned,  and 
there  were  the  three  swans,  aimlessly  floating 
about,   just  as   they  did   that  terrible   twilight. 

But  I  don't  know  that  the  swans  go  about 

231 


232         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

any  more  aimlessly  than  we  do  here  in  the 
house.  There  is  very  little  coming  and  going, 
for  we  are  in  mourning.  Uncle  does  not  take 
a  daily  paper.  He  says  it  frets  him  and  that 
there  is  really  no  use.  He  says  he  can  get  all 
the  essentials  from  the  Weekly  Eyrie.  And  so, 
I  suppose,  he  can.  But  all  this  helps  to  keep 
us  very  quiet.  It  is  as  if  we  lived  in  an  ivory 
tower.  We  might  be  enchanted,  so  little  do 
we  know  of  other  lives  than  our  own. 

I  said  something  like  this  to  Aunt  Lorena, 
and  she  replied: 

"  It  is  only  the  reaction  after  your  journey. 
A  person  is  likely  to  feel  rather  let  down  on 
first  coming  home  from  a  tour.  Can  you  not 
amuse  yourself,  Azalea,  thinking  over  the 
places  you  have  seen?  Oughtn't  you  to  be 
taking  up  your  French  again?  I  think  I  had 
better  arrange  for  Monsieur  Angier  to  come 
from   Charleston  once   a  week  to  teach  you." 

I  thanked  her,  and  went  away  to  my  room, 
presumably  to  do  as  she  recommended  and 
"  think."  But  thinking  is  not  living,  Carin, 
and  I  want  to  live.  I  don't  want  to  remember. 
I  want  to  do!  I'm  tired  of  having  other  people 
do  things  for  me;  I'm  tired  of  being  treated  as 


CROSSROADS  233 

if  I  were  better  than  other  people;  I'm  tired 
of  being  cheated  of  my  youth  by  being  made 
to  act  as  if  I  were  seventy. 

Yes,  that  is  what  it  amounts  to.  I  am  being 
cheated  of  my  youth.  I  am  so  strong  and 
well,  so  restless  and  full  of  energy  that  I  nearly 
expire  in  this  soft  house,  where  everyone  goes 
quietly,  and  where  we  must  not  even  pass  things 
at  the  table  lest  we  break  rules. 

Carin,  I  want  to  "  reach  "  for  the  bread  and 
to  eat  it  with  mountain  honey,  and  I'm  starving 
for  one  of  Ma  McBirney's  corn  cakes,  and  I'd 
like  better  than  anything  to  have  some  bacon 
and  eggs  for  dinner  —  with  just  barely  enough 
to  go  around. 

I  tell  you,  I'm  eating  too  much,  I'm  sleeping 
too  much.  I'm  moping  too  much!  I  wish  I 
could  get  on  Paprika's  back  and  go  scurrying 
down  the  valley,  whooping  as  I  go. 

Well,  let's  talk  of  something  else. 

You  say  that  Mrs.  Kitchell  is  really  going 
to  marry  the  feed  store  man.  That  is  fine.  I 
must  think  what  to  send  her  for  a  wedding 
present.  I  shall  make  it  something  quite  gor- 
geous —  nothing  sensible  at  all.  She  has  had 
so  much  good  sense  in  her  life  that  she  must 


234         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

be  nearly  dead  of  it.  I  think  I'll  get  her  a 
table  lamp  with  a  rose-colored  shade,  and  per- 
haps a  rose  silk  table  cover  to  go  with  it.  Dear 
Anne  Kitchell!  I'm  so  glad  some  rose  color  is 
coming  into  her  life. 

What  about  the  Mountain  Industries?  Is 
she  going  to  give  up  the  superintendence  of 
them?    If  so,  who  is  to  take  her  place? 

You  say  someone  has  bought  the  little  bench 
on  Mount  Tennyson  that  I  loved  so  much. 
Can  it  really  be  so?  Of  course  I  might  have 
expected  it,  for  it  was  the  best  building  place 
on  the  whole  mountain.  But,  Oh,  my  spring 
of  sweet  water,  and  my  darling  tulip  trees  — 
which  it  appears  aren't  mine,  after  all,  and 
now  never  will  be. 

That  was  where  I  was  going  to  build  my 
little  shack  and  hold  open  house.  Everyone 
who  went  by  was  to  be  at  liberty  to  stop  there, 
and  I  was  going  to  share  with  them  whatever 
I  had,  and  to  listen  to  their  stories,  and  to 
give  them  comfort.  Now  I  share  nothing.  No 
one  tells  me  anything.  I  give  comfort  to  no 
one. 

But  there  I  am,  mooning  again  and  making 
myself  sound  very  ungrateful   in   the  bargain. 


CROSSROADS  235 

But  I'll  tell  you,  Carin,  Uncle  David  and  Aunt 
Lorena  do  not  really  need  me.  They  are  as 
kind  as  they  can  be,  and  of  course  we  have 
some  very  social  and  happy  hours  together,  but 
the  whole  truth  of  it  is  that  they  are  quite 
bound  up  in  each  other  and  do  not  really  need 
anyone  else  at  all  in  their  lives.  Never  having 
had  any  children,  and  having  found  each  other 
so  satisfying,  the  presence  of  another  person  in 
the  house  is  more  of  an  interruption  than  a 
satisfaction  to  them.  No,  I  know  I  am  not 
needed  here.  That  realization  is  growing  on 
me.  Perhaps  it  is  my  fault.  Maybe  I  have 
not  made  myself  needed.  But  at  any  rate, 
this  is  the  rather  melancholy  truth. 

Yet  is  it  a  melancholy  truth?  Why  not 
cheerfully  face  the  fact?  Why  not  look  the 
whole  situation  in  the  face? 

For,  Oh,  Carin,  there  is  a  place  where  I  am 
needed.  It  is  at  Lee,  at  the  Mountain  Indus- 
tries. I  know  that  no  one  else  can  look  after 
them  as  w^ell  as  I.  Who  else  knows  so  many 
of  the  mountain  people?  With  whom  would 
they  be  as  free  and  friendly  as  with  Azalea 
McBirney,  the  waif-girl  they  saw  grow  up 
among  them,  the  girl  they  taught  to  weave  and 


236         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

sew  and  knit?  And  now  that  I  have  been  so 
much  with  people  of  a  different  sort,  I  mean 
with  the  friends  of  my  uncle  and  aunt,  I  am 
fairly  well  qualified  to  meet  the  other  sort  of 
people,  too,  the  visitors  to  Lee,  who  are  the 
patrons  of  the  Industries.  Yes,  I  should  feel 
quite  at  ease  with  them  now.  I  think  I  would 
know  ways  of  bringing  them  and  the  mountain 
people  together. 

That  introduces  me  to  a  perfectly  beautiful 
thought!  What  is  more,  it  is  the  first  time  I 
have  reached  it.  I  am  glad  I  came  across  it 
when  I  was  writing  to  you,  because  that  lets 
you  in  at  the  find.  It  is  this:  All  I  have  lived 
and  experienced  the  last  year  has  simply  been 
a  part  of  my  preparation  for  doing  what  I 
always  wanted  to  do.  It  has  made  me  twice 
as  fit  as  I  was  before,  to  be  the  friend  and 
teacher  of  my  dear  mountain  people.  Isn't  that 
so,  Sister  Carin?  Am  I  not  ready  now  to  come 
back  to  Lee  and  take  my  place  there,  and  to 
spin  my  silver  web?  Oh,  Carin,  now,  at  last, 
I  can  be  the  woman  your  dear  father  and 
mother  wanted  me  to  be.  I  can  serve  the 
people  toward  whom  I  feel  the  greatest  loyalty 
■ —  the  people  of  the  mountains,  to  whom,  for 


CROSSROADS  237 

Mother  McBirney's  sake,  I  owe  endless  grati- 
tude. But  gratitude  quite  aside,  I  want  to  do 
it  for  myself.  I  want  to  be  helped  in  helping 
them.     I  want  to  live  in  broadening  their  lives. 

So  I  think  I  am  going  to  make  up  my  mind 
to  come  back  to  Lee. 

Yes,  I  think  I  am. 

I  can  feel  myself  making  up  my  mind! 

•  ••••••• 

It  is  made  up! 

I  am  going  over  to  Delight  Ravanel's  to  tell 
her  about  it.  She  will  object,  and  then  I  can 
listen  to  my  own  arguments  and  make  myself 
sure  I  am  doing  right.  Then  I  shall  come 
home  and  let  Uncle  David  and  Aunt  Lorena 
know. 

How  excited  I  am! 

I  have  just  rung  for  young  James  to  saddle 
Bess.     Now  I  shall  put  on  my  riding  habit.  - 

Carin,  don't  you  wish  you  were  going  to  be 
along? 

Hastily  and  happily, 

Azalea 
Monrepos,   one   hour   later. 

Carin,  Miss  Ravanel  understands  everything. 


238  AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

She  says  she  will  stand  by  me.  She  quite  agrees 
that  I  must  do  something,  and  that  I  have  a 
right  to  live  my  life  in  my  own  wa}^,  just  so 
it  is  not  a  selfish  way.  Now,  giving  up  a  for- 
tune for  the  sake  of  liberty  can't  be  selfish,  can 
it?  Maybe  it  can.  That  is  another  thing  I'll 
have  to  think  about. 

Because,  you  understand,  do  you  not,  that 
going  back  to  Lee  will  mean  going  back  to 
freedom?  I  shall  claim  my  privilege  of  giving 
up  the  money  grandmother  left  me,  and  of 
framing  my  life  as  seems  to  suit  my  conscience 
and  desire  —  my  deep  heart's  desire  — the  best. 
That  was  where  I  stood  before  I  went  to 
Europe,  and  it  is  where,  after  all  this  time,  I 
still  stand.  I  have  tried  to  see  things  as  my 
relatives  wished  me  to,  but  I  have  not  suc- 
ceeded. I  want  to  be  myself,  to  make  my  own 
choice  in  matters  that  concern  my  happiness, 
and  to  be  free  to  use  my  own  powers. 

Dear  Carin,  while  I  was  merely  considering 
In  a  vague,  abstract  way  whether  or  not  I 
should  be  able  to  marry  the  man  of  Uncle 
David's  choice,  it  was  not  so  hard.  He  might, 
by  some  possibility,  choose  the  right  man.  But 
that  young  man   I  wrote  you  of  when   I  was 


CROSSROADS  239 

abroad,  is  expected  here  soon.  His  father  and 
Uncle  David  went  to  the  University  of  Vir- 
ginia together,  and  he  is  all  that  Uncle  David 
thinks  a  man  should  be.  He  is  a  fine  fellow^, 
too,  Gerald  Hargreaves  is.  I  concede  that.  I 
want  him  to  be  happy  —  with  someone  else. 
He  is  cultivated,  handsome,  rich,  gracious  and 
good-tempered.  This  recommends  him.  But 
it  does  not  make  me  love  him.  It  might, 
only  — 

You  know  of  w^hat  my  only  consists.  I  can- 
not forget  Keefe.  I  never  hear  from  him.  I 
no  longer  even  write  to  Mary  Cecily,  his  sister. 
She  stopped  writing  me,  first,  and  I  inferred 
that  Keefe  had,  in  his  pride  and  sadness,  asked 
her  to  do  so.  He  would  not  have  any  round- 
about communications.  He  would  hear  from 
me  straight  or  not  at  all.  So  of  course  I 
stopped  writing. 

Yet  I  feel  that  he  remembers.  Oh,  Carin, 
I  feel  that  he  does.  But  whether  he  does  or 
not  really  makes  no  difference.  I  must  be  true 
to  my  own  heart,  and  that  wall  not  let  me  say 
"  I  love  you  "  to  any  man  save  Keefe. 

If  I  were  the  old-fashioned  sort  of  a  girl,  I 
suppose  I  should  not  be  writing  in  this  w^ay,  so 


240         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

frankly  and  unashamed.  But  what  have  I  to 
be  ashamed  of?  I  cannot  think  it  is  wrong  to 
love  Keefe.  It  seems  the  rightest  thing  in  the 
world  to  me.  I  feel  no  confusion  of  any  sort 
about  it.  I  know  my  own  mind.  I  can  look 
in  it  as  if  it  were  a  nice  clean  mirror,  and  I 
see  Keefe  there  every  time. 

I  have  just  told  Delight  Ravanel  all  this. 
And  what  do  you  think  she  did?  She  kissed 
me!     I  had  looked  for  a  sharp  scolding. 

So  I  am  going  back  home  greatly  cheered 
and  strengthened.  Yet  I  realize  that  it  is  a 
hard  task  I  have  before  me  —  the  hardest  that 
ever  has  come  to  me.  How  I  do  hope  I  shall 
prove  myself  brave.  I  want  to  be  brave  more 
than  anything.  I  mustn't  cry!  I  won't  cry! 
It  is  too  important  a  matter  to  cry  about. 

Miss  Ravanel  says  she  will  come  to  Lee  to 
visit  me.  She  hasn't  been  anywhere  for  twelve 
years,  except  to  Charleston  now  and  then,  and 
sometimes  to  a  distant  neighbor's.  I  want  her 
to  come  and  show  mv  mountain  women  how  to 
make  blue  and  white  work.  It  is  a  kind  of 
embroidery  and  lace  combined,  made  on  a 
linen  base.  She  says  she  will.  Isn't  she  a 
dear?     I  hope  you'll   not  mind   her  wrinkles 


CROSSROADS  241 

and  think  her  old.  She  looks  a  little  old,  but 
she's  really  very  young,  judged  by  the  things 
that  count. 

Well,  she  has  given  me  encouragement  and 
tea  and  sponge  cake  and  this  beautiful  promise 
to  come  and  visit  me  in  what  she  calls  my  exile. 
Exile!  In  Lee!  Near  you  and  all  the  others 
I  love  best.  The  only  drawback  to  the  whole 
thing  will  be  seeing  somebody  else's  house  go 
up  on  my  treasured  building  site.  I  do  hope 
to  goodness  that  whoever  is  building  it  will 
put  up  a  charming  house.  I  couldn't  stand  it 
to  see  an  ugly  one  there. 

I'm  writing  this  while  Miss  Delight  is  down 
contracting  with  a  man  for  six  live  turkeys. 
I  can't  imagine  what  she  is  going  to  do  with 
them.  How  could  she  eat  them  all  by  herself, 
or  even  with  her  servants  to  help?  There  are 
only  two  and  neither  has  any  teeth  to  speak  of. 
Perhaps  she  likes  to  hear  turkeys  gobble.  I 
agree  with  her  that  it  is  a  cheerful  sound. 

Well,  she  is  returning.  Farewell.  I  will 
have  Miss  Ravanel's  man  mail  this  letter 
for  me. 

Excitedly  and  rather  fearfully, 

Azalea 


242         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

Mallowbanks,  November  18. 
My  Carin: 

It  is  done,  my  dear,  it  is  done.  I  am  free. 
And  the  getting  of  the  freedom  has  not  been 
so  terrible  as  I  feared  it  would  be. 

I  went  home  from  Miss  Ravanel's  that 
afternoon  with  my  courage,  as  you  remember, 
screwed  to  the  sticking  point.  It  was  a  glorious 
afternoon,  Carin,  and  although  the  summer 
was  gone,  everywhere  there  were  things  to 
remind  me  of  how  plenteous  it  had  been.  I 
had  not  ridden  far  before  I  came  to  the  Knox 
estate,  which  is  marked  by  low  stone  posts 
with  the  letter  "K"  upon  the  top.  The  sun- 
shine was  over  everything  —  over  the  wide, 
well-kept  fields,  the  beautiful  woodlands,  the 
creeks,  the  broad,  noisy  shallows,  the  winding 
roads,  the  houses  of  the  tenants  and  the  noble 
structure  of  Mallowbanks.  If  ever  there  was 
a  fair  domain  it  is  this.  And  half  of  it  is  mine 
—  or  was  mine. '  I  have  given  it  up  —  resigned 
all  claim  to  it.  I  can  hardly  realize  it  yet. 
But  I  must  soon  set  my  hand  to  certain  signa- 
tures, and  then  my  sacrifice  will  be  made 
regular  and  legal,  and  Azalea  will  go  out  of 
this    house    as    poor    as   when    she    entered    it. 


CROSSROADS  243 

Almost,  that  is.  For  it  is  true  that  I  shall 
have  an  annuity  which  will  last  as  long  as  I  do, 
and  will  provide  for  my  needs.  Once,  I  sup- 
pose, I  would  have  called  that  a  fortune.  But 
it  seems  very  little  now.  Since  I  came  here, 
I  have  spent  more  a  month  on  gifts  than  this 
will  come  to. 

But  never  mind  all  that.  I  must  tell  you 
what  happened.  As  I  said,  it  w^as  a  glorious 
afternoon,  and  I  found  my  uncle  and  aunt 
sitting  in  the  great  hallway  before  a  fire,  laugh- 
ing and  talking  together  very  happily.  When 
I  saw  how  contented  they  were  with  each 
other,  and  how  perfectly  they  fitted  into  that 
beautiful  home,  I  was  able  to  comfort  myself 
by  thinking  of  all  they  had  to  make  their  life 
rich.  They  did  not,  as  I  have  so  often  said, 
really  need  me. 

So,  without  even  waiting  to  change  from  my 
habit  to  my  house  garments,  I  went  up  to  them 
and  kissed  them  both,  and  then  I  stood  by  the 
side  of  the  great  fireplace  and  prayed  for  the 
right  words  to  come.  All  I  could  think  of 
was   this  —  or  something  like  this: 

"  Uncle  David,"  I  began,  "  Aunt  Lorena,  I 
have  come  to  say  something  very  important." 


244         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

Uncle  David  looked  up  sharply.  I  had  had 
a  letter  that  morning  from  Gerald  Hargreaves 
and  he  knew  it.  I  think  he  thought  that  what 
I  had  to  say  related  to  that.  So  I  shook  my 
head  at  him,  and  he  knew  I  had  been  reading 
his  thoughts. 

''  It  has  to  do,"  I  said,  "  with  a  princess  who 
was  not  fit  to  be  a  princess.  She  was  a  princess 
with  a  very  queer  life.  She  had  her  high 
inheritance,  but  she  was  born  in  poverty  for  all 
of  that,  and  she  was  reared  in  poverty,  and  in 
the  days  when  she  was  poor  she  used  to  dream 
that  some  day  her  kingdom  would  be  given  to 
her,  and  that  she  would  find  her  own  people 
and  live  with  them,  beloved  and  loving.  There 
was  no  reason  to  suppose  this  dream  would  ever 
come  true,  and  certainly  the  princess  never 
supposed  it  would.  Dreaming  the  dream  was 
just  a  game  that  she  played  to  pass  away  the 
time. 

"  Then,  one  day,  by  the  strangest  chance,  her 
people  found  her  —  her  own  people  ^ — and  so 
kind  and  noble  were  they  that  they  at  once 
acknowledged  her  and  took  her  to  her  own 
kingdom  —  though  it  might  all  have  been 
theirs   had    they   not   been    so    good    and    true 


CROSSROADS  245 

that  it  was  a  pleasure  to  them  to  do  right  and 
to  divide  it  between  themselves  and  her.  They 
did  all  they  could  to  make  the  princess  happy. 
The  great  house  and  the  garden,  the  fields 
and  woods,  were  for  her  to  enjoy.  She  was 
taken  on  a  journey  to  beautiful  lands.  She 
was  given  tutors  and  books,  gowns  and  jewels, 
a  horse  after  her  own  heart  and  many  luxuries 
which  it  would  take  too  long  to  name.  But 
there  was  one  thing  she  did  not  have,  and  that 
was  the  right  to  make  her  own  choice  of  the 
sort  of  life  she  wished  to  lead.  She  must  stay 
within  her  kingdom,  she  must  marry  the  prince 
that  her  kin  should  choose,  and  she  must  live 
as  became  one  of  her  rank. 

"  Now  it  so  happened  that  the  manner  in 
which  the  princess  had  been  reared  did  not 
make  it  possible  for  her  to  consent  to  this, 
although  she  wished  from  the  bottom  of  her 
heart  to  pay  full  duty  to  these  kind  and  true 
kinsmen  of  hers.  But  she  had  a  higher  duty 
yet  than  that,  and  that  was  to  be  true  to  her 
own  soul.  Day  by  day  and  hour  by  hour  this 
truth  grew  upon  her:  that  it  would  be  a  great 
sin  for  her  not  to  be  what  she  was  made  to  be. 
'  Be  what  thou   art '  she  had   once   read  in   a 


246         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

book.  '  Be  what  thou  art.'  She  could  not 
forget  it.  It  seemed  to  her  that  there  was  great 
wisdom  in   that  saying. 

"  So  she  has  come  to  tell  her  dear  kinspeople 
that  she  must  let  the  fortune  go.  The  houses 
and  lands,  the  streams  and  forests,  are  dear  to 
her,  but  they  are  not  so  dear  as  liberty.  No, 
not  nearly  so  dear.  But  there  is  one  thing 
that  is  dear  to  her  beyond  words,  and  that  is 
the  love  of  her  kinspeople,  and  that  she  never 
means  to  let  go  if  she  can  hold  on  to  it.  What- 
ever the  cords  are  that  tied  them  and  her 
together,  she  wants  to  make  stronger  and  faster, 
for  as  long  as  she  lives  she  will  love  them  and 
be  grateful  to  them. 

"  Yet  she  must  be  free.  Will  they  under- 
stand, and  forgive?  " 

Then  I  cried.  I  said  I  wouldn't,  that  I 
mustn't;  but  I  did.  Not  with  sobs.  No,  but 
those  miserable  tears  simply  poured  out  of  my 
eyes  over  my  cheeks  and  I  couldn't  stop  them. 
And  Aunt  Lorena  cried,  too.  Only  she  cried 
slowly.  She  sat  with  her  long  hands  clasped 
and  let  the  big,  lazy  tears  roll  down  her  cheeks. 
As  for  Uncle  David,  he  grew  red  and  then 
white,  and  for  what  seemed  a  long  time  I  stood 


CPvOSSROADS  247 

there,  waiting,  until  after  a  long  time  Uncle 
David  said: 

"  Come  to  me,  child,"  and  I  went  to  him, 
and  kneeled  down  by  him,  and  he  brushed  back 
m}^  hair  and  kissed  me  on  the  forehead. 

"  You  were  never,"  he  said  in  a  voice  that 
trembled  a  little,  "  so  true  a  Knox  as  you  are 
to-day,   my  dear." 

Oh,  Carin,  w^asn't  that  beautiful?  I  had 
been  afraid  of  his  disapproval,  but  now  I 
seemed,  in  a  way  I  cannot  describe,  almost 
more  afraid  of  his  approval.  It  was  hard  for 
me  to  stand  his  kindness  when  I  had  been  so 
determined  to  go  my  way. 

Then  I  heard  Aunt  Lorena  talking,  but  for 
a  moment  or  two  my  heart  and  brain  were  in 
such  an  uproar  that  I  could  not  really  make 
out  what  she  was  saying.  But  at  last  the  words 
got  through  to  me. 

"  We  know.  Azalea,  many  things  which  you, 
perhaps,  do  not  give  us  credit  for  knowing. 
We  know  that  you  are  full  of  ambition  and 
that  the  life  here  seems  meaningless  to  you. 
Life  has  trained  you  in  a  different  school  from 
what  it  has  us.  We  believe  if  you  had  waited, 
you  would  have  come  to  see  opportunities  for 


248         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

great  good  in  this  life  here,  but  since  it  truly 
does  not  appeal  to  you,  I  for  one  think  you 
ought  to  be  allowed  to  go  your  way  and  live 
the  life  you  like.  I  know  —  we  know  —  that 
there  lies  behind  this  resolution  your  determi- 
nation to  have  a  free  choice  in  other  matters 
than  your  vocation.    Am  I  not  right  in  this?" 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  and  found  the  courage  to 
look  straight  into  her  eyes. 

"  I  do  not  blame  vou,"  she  said.  "  I  married 
the  man  I  loved,  and  I  believe  every  woman 
should  do  that  if  she  can." 

"At  any  price?"  asked  Uncle  David,  look- 
ing first  at  me  and  then  at  her. 

"  Oh,  at  any  price  consistent  with  honor," 
she  said. 

"  The  price  you  pay  is  a  large  one,"  he  said 
to  me.    "  I  doubt  if  you  appreciate  how  large." 

"  It  would  mean  nothing  to  me  if  my  heart 
always  hung  heavily  in  me,"  I  said. 

"  No,"  he  agreed. 

"  No,"  echoed  Aunt  Lorena. 

They  are  very  tender  with  me.  They  deeply 
regret  the  conditions  of  the  will,  but  they  have 
no  power  to  change  them.  As  for  me,  I  do 
not  wish  any  change  made.     I  want  all   left 


CROSSROADS  249 

as  my  little  grandmother  desired.  I  resent 
nothing.  I  have  too  much  for  which  to  be 
thankful. 

Carin,  it  seems  incredible,  but  in  a  few  days 
I  shall  be  at  Lee.  I  will  wire  you  when  I  am 
coming.  Ride  up  to  see  Mother  McBirney. 
Let  her  know  everything.  Tell  everyone  I  am 
coming  home.  Oh,  how  my  heart  beats  at 
thought  of  it!  I  can  write  no  more.  I  cannot 
see  my  page  for  these  silly  tears. 

Azalea 


CHAPTER  XIV 

"  WHERE  THERE   IS  A  WILL  " 

The  Shoals,  November  24. 
Dear  Aunt  Lorena  and  Dear  Uncle  David: 

Just  a  line  to  say  that  I  am  safe  here  and 
am  sending  Semmy  back  to  you  with  many, 
many  thanks.  She  asked  to  stay  with  me,  but 
it  was,  I  fancy,  more  to  compliment  me  than 
for  any  other  reason.  I  would  not  keep  her, 
of  course.  She  belongs  to  Ivlallowbanks,  does 
dear  good  Greenville  Female  Seminary  Simms. 
May  heaven  bless  her.  I  hated  to  part  with 
her. 

Dear  me,  how  many  kinds  of  homesickness 
one  may  have.  When  I  was  away  from  Lee  I 
was  longing  for  it;  now  that  I  am  here  I  love 
to  dream  of  Mallowbanks.  Still,  I  am  glad 
I  am  here.  There  is  work  awaiting  me.  In 
fact,  it  is  piled  high,  and  someone  was  des- 
perately needed  to  take  hold  of  it.  Lee  is 
bulging   with    nice   visitors    with    fashionable- 

250 


''WHERE  THERE  IS  A  WILL"  251 

looking  purses,  and  they  are  wild  to  do  things 
and  spend  money.  They  would  rather  pur- 
chase these  mountain  products  than  anything 
else,  because  they  are  such  quaint  souvenirs 
of  this  lovely  place.  But,  alas,  all  is  in  confu- 
sion in  the  little  shop.  The  weavers  have  been 
lazy,  the  basket-makers  must  have  been  wool 
gathering,  the  pottery  makers  have  all  been 
getting  married  —  just  like  Ma  Kitchell  —  and 
there  is,  to  say  the  least,  the  dickens  to  pay. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carson  had  been  most  eager 
to  have  me  come  back  and  take  up  the  work, 
but  as  you  know,  there  was  not  a  hint  from 
them  that  they  wanted  me,  because,  of  course, 
they  would  not  in  any  way  interfere  with  me, 
nor  tempt  me  to  return.  Anyway,  I  do  not 
suppose  they  had  the  faintest  idea  that  I  would 
do  so.  But  when  they  found  that  I  was  willing 
and  ready  to  take  up  the  work,  they  were 
simply  delighted,  and  now  they  are  doing 
everything  in  their  power  to  help  my  task 
along.  Within  two  or  three  weeks  I  hope  to 
have  things  running  very  well.  I  would  like 
to  make  a  good  showing  before  Christmas. 

I  am  staying  with  my  own  Carin  Carson 
for  the  present,  because  I  am  not  inclined  to 


252         'AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

take  the  long  ride  up  and  down  the  mountain. 
It  would  be  too  exhausting.  Moreover,  since 
I  would  not  be  able  to  help  Mother  McBirney 
with  the  housework,  I  would  very  much  object 
to  staying  there  and  making  her  extra  trouble. 
But  of  course  I  wxnt  up  there  the  day  after  I 
arrived.  Things  are  going  on  quite  in  the  old 
way  with  the  McBirneys.  Except,  of  course, 
that  Jim  is  not  there,  being  still  at  school.  Hi 
KitchelTs  younger  brother  is  a  helper  for 
Father  McBirney,  and  seems  a  fine,  willing 
boy.  Father  McBirney  is  pretty  w^ell,  consid- 
ering his  condition  of  a  year  ago,  but  he  will 
never  be  quite  so  strong  and  nimble  as  he  once 
was.  Mother  McBirney  is  well  and  happy  in 
her  quiet  way,  and  she  sends  her  respects  to 
you. 

I  am  asking  a  few  friends  for  subscrip- 
tions for  the  Industries.  It  would  not  become 
me  to  place  any  limit  on  their  generosity, 
would  it? 

Oh,  what  an  impertinent  one  I  am  to  badger 
you,  when  you  have  already  done  so  much  for 
me! 

How  am  I  to  thank  you  for  everything? 
How,  above  all,  am  I  to  express  my  gratitude 


"  WHERE  THERE  IS  A  WILL  "   253 

to  you  for  your  large-minded  consideration  for 
my  feelings  and  preferences?  I  am  now  a 
worker  in  the  world  of  workers,  and  I  am  very 
happy,  for  a  deep  need  of  my  being  is  finding 
expression.  Try  to  understand  as  well  as  to 
forgive. 

With   abiding   affection, 

Azalea 

******** 

The  Shoals,  December  5. 
Dearest  Miss  Delight,  my  own  beloved  twenty- 
seventh  cousin: 

Oh,  why  do  you  not  come  to  see  me?  You 
thought  you  might  come  along  in  a  week  or 
two.  It  is  more  than  a  week  or  two  and  you 
are  not  here.  I  am  having  such  fun,  but  it 
would  be  yet  more  fun  if  you  were  sharing  it 
with  me. 

I   am  selling  things! 

Yes,  selling  them  at  the  Mountain  Industries. 

They  are  going  like  hot  cakes.  I  haven't 
made  up  my  books  yet,  but  from  present  indi- 
cations I  should  say  that  the  Mountain  Indus- 
tries would  presently  be  very,  very  rich.  Of 
course   I'm   really  not   a   good  judge,   because 


254         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

this  is  the  first  selling  I  ever  have  done,  and 
it  may  have  excited  me  a  bit. 

Let  me  tell  you  what  I  have  been  doing. 
As  I  mentioned  in  the  little  note  I  wrote  you, 
things  were  rather  at  sixes  and  sevens  here. 
Mrs.  Kitchell,  who  has  had  charge  of  the  place 
from  the  very  beginning,  was  a  fine  worker 
and  was  and  is  one  of  the  dearest  little  things 
that  ever  lived,  but  she  v/asn't  just  the  person 
for  managing  a  growing  business.  She  was 
better  at  weaving  than  at  negotiating  the  weav- 
ing of  other  folk,  for  example.  Actually,  when 
I  came  to  look  things  over  I  found  quantities 
of  fine  salable  stufif  tucked  away  here  and  there. 
No  one  ever  had  come  in  and  demanded 
those  particular  things  —  not  knowing  of  the 
existence  of  them  —  and  they  had  therefore 
remained   unsold. 

I  had  the  whole  "  kit  an'  bilin'  "  taken  out 
in  the  yard  and  spread  around  on  bushes  and 
fences  and  the  ground  and  aired  and  aired  and 
aired!  Then  I  had  the  salesroom  calcimined 
a  most  magnificent  pumpkin  color.  The  deco- 
rator was  as  stupid  as  a  rabbit  about  mixing 
the  right  color,  so  Carin  came  over  and  did  it. 
Then  I  had  racks  put  around  the  wall.     Some 


a 


WHERE  THERE  IS  A  WILL"   255 


of  them  hung  from  the  ceiling;  some  stood 
on  the  floor.  Also  I  had  a  few  drawers  and 
shelves  put  up,  and  I  got  some  show  cases  with 
black  finishings,  and  I  furnished  the  room  with 
mountain  furniture  stained  black.  Also  I  have 
the  floor  covered  with  extra  heavy  rag  carpet- 
ing in  pumpkin  yellow  and  black. 

Fancy,  if  you  please,  how  beautiful  my 
blue  hand-woven  coverlets  and  my  brown-and- 
orange  and  black-and-red  counterpanes  look 
against  this  wall.  Fancy  how  attractive  is  the 
snarl  of  fine  hand-woven  baskets  that  I  have 
tied  up  on  one  side  of  the  room. 

What  is  more,  we  are  nov\^  opening  a  regular 
tea  room.  Mrs.  Kitchell  had  had  one  at  the 
beginning,  but  it  had  fallen  into  nothingness. 
Now  I  have  one  —  the  darlingest  room  —  all 
in  golden  brown  and  white.  It  complements 
the  other  room  in  the  nicest  way,  and  yet  is 
very  different  indeed.  I  have  some  curious 
Japanese  dishes,  sort  of  crackled  in  effect, 
white  and  brow^n,  and  odd  serving  dishes  in 
dull  yellow  majolica.  And  we  use  the  moun- 
tain-made trays  of  willow  and  some  of  the 
mountain  pottery.  I  have  three  neat,  svv^eet, 
fleet  mountain  girls  in  here  helping  with   the 


256         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

tea  room,  and  people  simply  throng  to  it.  I 
write  out  the  little  menu  every  morning  before 
I  get  out  of  bed,  and  one  of  these  girls,  who 
really  has  a  head  on  her,  prepares  the  things 
in  the  most  appetizing  manner. 

"  People,"  I  said  to  her,  "  don't  come  in 
here  because  they  are  hungry.  They  come 
because  they  want  to  be  amused.  And  they 
won't  be  amused  unless  everything  looks 
beautiful." 

Carin  is  doing  a  lot  of  the  cooking.  She 
is  doing  it  because  she  wants  to  know  how  to 
cook.  She  is  going  to  be  married  before 
spring,  and  there  is  simply  no  use  in  her  trying 
to  do  anything  in  her  own  kitchen.  The  serv- 
ants won't  let  her;  or  if  they  do  consent  they 
all  stand  around  and  watch  till  she  is  so  nervous 
she  can't  do  a  thing.  But  over  in  our  kitchen 
she  can  do  just  what  she  pleases.  She  makes 
those  delicious  little  cakes  called  "  hermits " 
and  "marguerites  "  and  "  rocks  "  and  her  sand- 
wiches are  as  good  to  look  at  as  they  are  to 
taste.     She  has  a  new  kind  every  day. 

I  am  terribly  stern  with  her  about  keeping 
books,  however,  and  she  has  to  put  down  every 
cent   she   SDends.     The   tea    room   must   make 


"WHERE  THERE  IS  A  WILL"  257 

money  for  us  or  we'll  not  run  it.  I  have 
become  fiercely  practical. 

Oh,  how  light  my  heart  is!  There  is  so 
much  to  do  each  day  that  I  can  hardly  get 
through,  and  I  fall  asleep  as  soon  as  I  touch 
the  bed,  and  am  oblivious  to  the  whole  world 
until  my  alarm  goes  off.  But  I  set  my  alarm 
pretty  early  because  each  day  I  must  think  out 
my  w^ork  before  I  get  up.  I  write  out  my 
program  for  the  day  and  insist  on  following  it. 

Of  course  quantities  and  quantities  of  people 
come  in  the  shop  who  do  not  purchase,  but 
I  do  not  waste  much  time  with  them.  I  have 
a  little  sign  on  the  wall  telling  our  patrons  to 
look  around  as  much  as  they  please,  and  when 
they  have  made  their  selection  to  let  us  know. 
I  add  that  they  are  most  welcome;  whether 
they  purchase  or  no,  they  are  to  make  them- 
selves at  hom.e. 

Meantime,  I  have  a  pleasant  young  girl  at 
hand  ready  to  wait  on  them  when  they  wish 
her  to,  and  I,  though  I  appear  to  be  busy  with 
other  matters,  keep  an  ear  cocked,  and  if  she 
seems  to  need  reinforcing,  I  come  to  her  assist- 
ance. By  the  way,  who  do  you  suppose  that 
girl  is?    Why,  she  is  Liza  Wixon,  from  Mount 


258         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

Hebron,  the  girl  whose  soup  I  sampled  so 
generously  without  invitation.  I  have  per- 
suaded both  her  mother  and  her  to  come  down 
and  help  me.  So  they  have  put  their  sadness 
behind  them  and  are  working  like  good  fel- 
lows. Of  course  they  have  a  secret  of  some 
kind,  but  I  shall  never  ask  what  it  is. 

I  am  sending  off  letters  to  our  workers,  beg- 
ging them  to  hasten  their  wares  to  us,  telling 
them  the  demand  for  their  work  is  here.  All 
we  need  is  the  goods. 

No,  I  don't  go  anywhere.  Do  you  wish  I 
would?  When  I  first  came  home  people  began 
giving  me  teas  and  all  that,  but  I  begged  them 
not  to. 

"  Come  and  see  me  Sunday  afternoons,"  I 
told  them.  "  I  mustn't  indulge  in  a  social  life. 
I  wouldn't  have  time  and  strength  for  that 
along  with  all  my  work." 

I  knew  the  people  who  really  cared  for  me 
would  come,  and  as  for  the  others,  it  would  be 
better  for  them  to  visit  their  chosen  friends 
and  not  bother  with  me. 

Well,  why  don't  you  come  to  visit  me 
and  to  help  me  with  the  Christmas  trade? 
Wouldn't   it  be  the  joy  of   the  world  to   see 


"WHERE  THERE  IS  A  WILL"  259 

the  exclusive  Miss  Delight  Ravanel  waiting 
on  people  and  wearing  a  pleasant  saleslady's 
smile?  It  would  fill  me  with  great  glee. 
Please  come  down  here  and  let  me  see  you 
doing  it. 

Do  you  miss  me?  I  miss  you  very,  very^ 
much.  Evenings,  when  I  leave  the  drawing- 
room  and  go  up  to  my  own  quiet  room,  I  think 
of  you  sitting  by  yourself,  so  lady-fine  and 
peaceful  beside  your  lamp,  your  busy  needles 
and  thoughts  going,  and  outside  the  trees  sigh- 
ing and  the  wind  whistling.  How  still  you  can 
be,  dear  friend.  Is  it  hard  to  learn  to  be  as 
still  as  that? 

I  have  been  telling  Barbara  Summers  all 
about  you.  Of  course  she  had  met  you  at  the 
time  of  my  coming-out  party,  but  she  couldn't 
possibly  know  you  —  or  even  guess  you  —  until 
she  had  sat  with  you  evening  after  evening 
as  I  have,  in  so  pleasant  a  "  solitude  of  two  " 
and  mined  for  your  treasures  of  brain  and 
heart.  For  you  hide  your  virtues  as  other 
people  do  their  faults. 

Dear  Delight  R.,  I  have  had  occasion  when- 
ever I  went  to  Mother  McBirney's,  to  go  by 
the  place  I  used  to  call  mine.     I   mean   that 


260         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

little,  out-looking  bench  on  the  mountain-side 
where  the  tulip  trees  rustle  and  the  spring  of 
cold  water  whispers.  I  have  already  told  you 
that  a  house  is  going  up  there.  Well,  it  is 
beginning  really  to  look  like  a  house  now,  and 
I  cannot  resist  dismounting  every  time  I  pass 
it,  and  looking  it  over. 

It  is  going  to  be  a  bewitching  house,  nothing 
less.  There  is  a  covered  porch  which  in  winter 
is  to  be  made  into  a  sun  room,  that  literally 
hangs  over  the  blue  abyss,  but  so  firmly  is  it 
supported  with  its  foundations  of  cement  and 
its  huge  beams  of  oak,  that  it  is  as  firm  and 
enduring  as  the  mountain-side  itself.  There 
is  a  long,  fine  living  room;  the  mantel 
is  to  be  of  blue  tile  —  yes,  and  the  chimney 
piece,  too.  It  will  be  curious,  will  it  not? 
But  I  think  I  shall  like  it.  There  are  two 
bedrooms  on  the  first  floor,  and  there  is,  of 
course,  the  kitchen  and  a  small  dining  room. 
The  wood  is  chestnut,  which  takes  on  a  beauti- 
ful color  when  it  is  oiled. 

Upstairs  there  Is  a  bedroom  which  reminds 
me  of  my  dear  little  loft  at  Mother  McBirney's 
only  that  it  is,  of  course,  to  be  very  nicely  fin- 
ished ofif.     It  looks  up  the  mountain-side,  too, 


"WHERE  THERE  IS  A  WILL"  261 

and  it  opens  on  a  sleeping  porch.  Then  there 
is  a  long  room  beside  it,  the  use  of  which  I  do 
not  know.  Perhaps  it  is  being  left  undivided 
merely  because  it  is  not  needed  for  present  use. 
I  have  asked  a  number  of  persons  who  is  build- 
ing this  house,  but  no  one  seems  to  know.  The 
contractor  is  a  friend  of  mine,  but  even  he 
professes  to  know  nothing.  He  says  that  a 
man  at  Rutherford  is  doing  all  the  business 
with  him,  but  that  he  understands  it  is  for 
some  gentleman  who  wishes  to  have  a  quiet 
spot  to  come  to  now  and  then,  and  who  once 
visited  Lee  and  saw  this  beautiful  building 
site. 

Well,  if  he  had  taken  any  other  spot  in  the 
whole  county  except  the  particular  one  that 
he  did,  he  would  be  welcome.  But  as  it  is, 
he  annoys  me. 

Haven't  I  chattered  about  enough?  Mind, 
I  am  looking  for  you.  I  want  you  to  come 
down  and  play  at  being  a  "  rich  merchant " 
with  me. 

If  you  see  the  good  people  at  Mallowbanks, 
give  them  my  love,  please. 

Fondly, 

Azalea 


262         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

The  Shoals,  November  21. 
Dear  Aunt  Lorena: 

I  have  just  come  home  from  the  wedding  of 
my  dear  Annie  Laurie  Pace  to  Samuel  Dis- 
brow.  It  was  quite  a  sudden  affair  at  the 
last.  Of  course  they  have  been  in  love  with 
each  other  for  years,  and  it  must  be  a  year 
and  a  half  since  they  became  engaged.  But 
they  were  both  so  busy  superintending  the 
dairy  which  Annie  Laurie's  father  left  her, 
and  following  up  their  university  extension 
course,  that  we  had  about  decided,  Carin  and 
I,  that  they  had  forgotten  all  about  getting 
married. 

But  it  seems  that  we  were  mistaken.  They 
were  thinking  about  it  all  of  the  time. 

The  wedding  was  held  in  the  Baptist 
church,  and  there  were  three  ministers  to  make 
it  what  it  should  be.  There  was  the  Baptist 
minister,  who  belonged  there,  and  the  Meth- 
odist minister — Mr.  Summers  —  who  helped 
because  Annie  Laurie  loved  him,  and  there 
was  old  Mr.  Mills,  who  came  back  from 
Florida  to  put  on  the  finishing  touches,  because 
Annie  Laurie  had  know  him  ever  since  she 
was  a  baby. 


"  WHERE  THERE  IS  A  WILL  "  263 

She  looked  glorious,  did  Annie  Laurie,  so 
tall  and  strong  and  fine,  with  her  dark  red 
hair  burnished  like  a  bird's  breast,  all  in  her 
white,  with  her  floating  veil.  Instead  of  bride's 
roses  she  carried  a  bouquet  of  great  tawny 
chrysanthemums  the  color  of  her  hair.  Sam 
has  grown  to  be  a  magnificent  fellow  and 
everyone  likes  him.  When  I  remember  what 
a  pale-faced,  anxious  boy  he  was  once,  and  see 
what  a  strong,  capable,  independent  fellow  he 
has  become,  I  feel  tremendously  proud,  not 
only  of  him,  but  of  Lee,  which  helped  him  to 
make  himself  what  he  is.  There  was  a  time 
when  everybody  thought  him  the  son  of  a 
thief,  and  when  he  was  broken-hearted  with 
grief  and  shame,  when  he  might  have  gone 
down  and  become  worse  than  nothing.  But  he 
wanted  to  be  good  and  fine,  and  everybody 
in  Lee  turned  in  and  gave  him  a  boost.  Annie 
Laurie  helped  most  of  all,  of  course. 

Now  she  has  her  reward. 

They  have  gone  away  on  a  wedding  trip, 
and  I  am  so  glad.  Never  before  has  either 
of  them  gone  outside  of  the  state  they  were 
born  in.  But  now  she  and  Sam  are  ofif  to  the 
North,  and  will  visit  New  York  and   Boston, 


264         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

Washington  and  Baltimore,  and  a  number 
of  other  places.  Fortunately,  they  have  a  good 
superintendent,  and  the  dairy  will  get  on  very 
well  without  them.  I  am  going  to  stay  in  the 
house  with  Annie  Laurie's  two  aunts  until  she 
returns.  Aunt  Adnah  is  very  restless,  and 
Aunt  Zillah  cannot  manage  her  very  well,  but 
when  I  am  there  I  can,  I  think,  keep  them 
amused.  I  move  over  to-morrow,  and  shall 
stay  in  Annie  Laurie's  own  room,  which  is  as 
clean,  if  not  as  bare,  as  in  the  old  days  when 
I  knew  it  first. 

How  Annie  Laurie  did  want  dear  old  Hay- 
stack Thompson  to  play  at  the  little  dance 
after  the  wedding!  But  he  is  not  to  be  found. 
Never  since  he  ran  away  from  good  little 
Mrs.  Kitchell  has  he  been  seen  or  heard  of. 
But  I  can't  believe  that  any  harm  has  come 
to  him.  He  is  off  in  some  other  part  of  his 
beloved  mountains,  fiddling  for  new  friends. 
I  miss  him  terribly.  Don't  think  me  ego- 
tistical, but  I  do  wonder  if  he  would  return 
if  he  knew  that  I  was  back  here.  He  always 
loved  me  quite  out  of  proportion  to  my  deserts. 
It  was  because  he  helped  to  find  me  that  time 
I  was  kidnapped,  I  think,  and  because  I  was 


"WHERE  THERE  IS  A  WILL"  265 

such  a  queer,  unlucky  little  girl  and  needed 
him  so  much.  But  whatever  the  reason,  we 
are  great  friends,  and  I  can  not  think  of  any- 
thing that  would  give  me  greater  pleasure 
than  to  see  him  loping  down  the  mountain- 
side, with  his  fiddle  under  his  arm,  and  his 
hair  all  in  a  shock,  like  a  windblown  haystack. 

I  had  no  time  to  prepare  a  fit  present 
for  Annie  Laurie,  the  announcement  of  her 
wedding  was  so  unexpected.  So  now  I  am 
weaving  a  counterpane  for  her  of  blue,  orange 
and  white  in  the  wheel  and  star  pattern.  It 
is  going  to  be  beautiful,  and  will  bring  color 
into  her  room,  which  always  has  been  too 
austere.  Carin  has  ordered  a  beautiful  rug 
from  New  York,  which  will  have  the  same 
colors  in  it.  And  Mrs.  Carson  will  give  the 
hangings  of  blue  for  the  windows.  So  we 
shall  have  a  charming  room  for  her  by  the 
time  she  returns.  The  truth  is,  Annie  Laurie 
never  pays  any  attention  to  herself  or  to  the 
things  which  she  alone  uses,  beyond  keeping 
everything  spotlessly  clean  and  in  order  after 
the  immemorial  fashion  of  the  Paces. 

But  she  deserves  a  beautiful  bedroom,  and 
she  shall  have  it. 


266         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

I  am  so  busy  in  the  shop  during  the  day 
that  I  have  to  weave  the  counterpane  at  night. 
I  might  have  someone  else  do  it,  only  I  prefer 
to  do  it  with  my  own  hands.  Anyway,  I 
have  to  economize  a  bit.  Not  that  I  mind. 
Which  reminds  me  that  the  first  installment 
of  the  annuity  dear  grandmother  provided  for 
me,  arrived  safely.  Enclosed  please  find 
receipt.  Mr.  Carson  is  paying  me  a  nice  little 
salary  for  my  work  at  the  Industries.  So  I 
am  well  provided  for,  as  you  see.  But  I 
want  to  be  a  bit  saving,  because  now,  indeed, 
Azalea  is  out  for  herself,  and  she  does  not 
want  to  have  to  fall  back  on  anybody. 

I  am  sorry  Uncle  David  does  not  write  me. 
He  isn't  vexed  with  me,  is  he?  Oh,  I  know 
he  is  disappointed.  I  know  I  seem  to  him 
not  to  have  done  the  right  or  the  grateful 
thing.  But  try  to  make  him  understand  that 
I  love  him.  I  had  to  go  my  own  way,  that 
is  all.  And  I  am  justified;  I  feel  that  in 
my  heart.  I  enjoy  each  moment  as  it  comes, 
and  I  continually  feel  that  something  yet  more 
glorious   is   about  to  happen. 

With  devotion, 

Azalea 


CHAPTER  XV 

"  RING,    HAPPY    BELLS  " 

The  Shoals,  December  26. 
My  dear,  dear  Uncle  and  Aunt: 

A  happy  New  Year!  Was  it  a  merry 
Christmas  for  you?  Oh,  I  hope  it  was.  You 
had  many  of  your  kith  and  kin  with  you,  I 
know.  I  would  have  liked  to  have  been  there 
if  only  I  could  have  been  in  two  places  at 
once.     But  you  know  how  difficult  that  is. 

And  this  year  I  had  to  be  right  here. 

You  still  wonder  why? 

It  is  not  easy  to  explain.  But  it  had  to  be. 
I  felt  the  need  of  it.  I  have  been  working 
my  way  back  to  the  true,  original  Azalea, 
and  she  was  to  be  found  here  and  not  amid 
all  the  luxury  and  quietude  and  tradition  of 
Mallowbanks.  But  now,  I  think,  at  last,  she 
is  really  found,  and  so  she  hopes  that  next 
year  you  may  be  able  to  include  her  in  your 
Christmas  celebration. 

267 


268         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

Let  me  thank  you  and  then  thank  you  again 
for  your  beautiful  Christmas  gifts.  A  piano 
of  my  own,  and  a  music  cabinet  and  folios 
and  folios  of  music!  It  was  a  royal  gift  and 
I  do  not  see  just  how  ordinary  thanks  are 
going  to  express  my  gratitude.  All  I  can  say 
is  that  it  shall  be  the  comfort  of  my  lonely 
hours,  and  the  joy  of  my  bright  ones,  and 
that  I  promise  now  that  never  shall  I  sit  down 
to  this  exquisite  instrument  without  thinking 
of  the  two  who  gave  it  to  me,  and  being 
thankful  that  my  life  met  theirs.  That  my 
life  and  theirs  could  not,  for  reasons,  run 
along  in  the  same  channel,  makes  the  joy  of 
the  meeting  no  less.  I  look  at  this  wonderful 
gift  and  find  myself  not  quite  believing  that 
it  is  really  mine.  This  morning  I  could  hardly 
wait  to  dress  to  run  into  Carin's  studio  to 
see  If  it  really  was  there.  Having  no  place 
of  my  own,  I  have  had  it  put  in  her  lovely 
room  for  the  time  being. 

I  have  many  things  to  tell  you,  and  I  am 
going  to  try  to  tell  them  with  proper  dignity 
as  becomes  your  niece.  I  know  I  write 
dreadful  nonsense  at  times,  and  I  know,  too, 
that  I  am  too  impulsive  and  enthusiastic.     I 


"  RING,  HAPPY  BELLS  "  269 


remember  that  dear  Father  McBirney  warned 
me  against  those  faults  in  my  character  years 
ago,  when  I  first  came  to  him.  I  am  afraid 
I  have  not  improved  very  much,  but  at  least 
I  am  aware  that  he  was  right,  and  that  I 
ought  to  be  a  more  sober  and  calm  person 
than  I  am. 

So,  quite  calmly  and  soberly,  I  am  happier 
than  I  ever  thought  anybody  could  be.  I  have 
promised  Keefe  O'Connor  to  marry  him.  By 
Spring  I  shall  have  done  it  —  and  you  two 
shall  be  here  beside  me,  to  deliver  me  with 
all   possible  conventionality  into   his   hands. 

There!    Did  I  not  tell  that  soberly  enough? 

And  now  to  go  back! 

I  did  not  write  to  Keefe  nor  he  to  me.  We 
had  promised  you  that  we  would  not,  and  we 
kept  our  word.  I  did  not  even  let  him  know 
that  I  was  here  at  Lee,  or  that  I  had  renounced 
all  of  my  right  to  my  grandmother's  splendid 
legacy  in  order  to  be  free  to  weave  my  own 
silver  web.    No,  I  just  worked  and  kept  still. 

But  I  confess  that  I  knew  that  Annie  Laurie 
had  written  to  Keefe's  sister,  Mrs.  Rowantree, 
all  about  it,  and  that  I  was  morally  sure  she 
would  write  to  Keefe.     But  that,  as  you  will 


270         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

plainly  see,  was  something  over  which  I  had 
no  control.  Not,  I  will  confess,  that  I  tried 
to  have. 

Meantime,  I  tried  to  be  content,  and  I  was, 
really,  but  it  was  a  contentment  made  up 
largely  of  expectation.  You  see  how  frank 
I  am  with  you.  Do  you  mind?  It  is  Azalea's 
way.  You  don't  want  her  to  try  to  be  any 
other  way  than  is  natural  to  her,  do  you? 

Yes,  I  had  a  beautiful,  deep-down,  reassur- 
ing sense  of  expectation.  I  felt  as  if  Happi- 
ness was  journeying  toward  me. 

"  Maybe,"  I  often  said  to  myself,  "  she  will 
be  a  long  while  coming,  but  she  is  on  the  way. 
By  putting  my  ear  to  the  ground,  I  am  sure 
I  can  hear  her  footsteps." 

So  I  kept  on  working  and  working,  and 
the  work  thrived  and  I  thrived.  At  night  I 
slept  the  sleep  of  the  very  weary,  and  all  day 
long  I  was  playing  the  fine  exciting  game  of 
building  up  the  business  of  the  Mountain 
Industries. 

Then,  when  I  had  nothing  else  to  do,  I 
dreamed  dreams. 

There  was  only  one  thing  in  the  world  that 
bothered  me,  and  that  was  the  little  house  up 


"  RING,  HAPPY  BELLS  "         271 

on  the  mountain.  It  seemed  too  outrageous 
that  anybody  —  a  stranger  at  that  —  should 
have  come  down  into  the  Blue  Ridge  and 
bought  and  built  on  the  one  spot  of  all  the 
whole  range  that  I  had  selected  for  myself. 
To  add  insult  to  injury,  he  was  putting  up 
precisely,  identically,  the  sort  of  a  house  that 
I  had  designed  for  the  place.  There  was  only 
one  way  to  account  for  that,  and  that  was 
that  both  he  and  I  had  selected  the  most 
appropriate  sort  of  a  house  for  the  place. 
Such  a  house,  I  finally  decided,  must  be  inevit- 
able in  such  a  spot.  And  yet,  after  all,  that 
didn't  quite  account  for  the  strangeness  of  the 
fact  that  the  place  was  such  a  materialization 
of  my  dream.  It  really  annoyed  me.  I  did  not 
like  that  man.  I  was  prepared  to  be  disagree- 
able to  him. 

And  then,  one  day,  I  saw  him. 

It  was  a  Sunday,  clear  and  crisp  and  cold, 
and  I  had  been  up  to  have  dinner  with  Mother 
McBirney.  Jim  was  home,  too,  for  the  holi- 
days, and  the  four  of  us  sat  in  the  quaint, 
dear  old  room  just  as  'we  used  years  ago. 
Only  now  it  was  Jim  and  not  Father  McBir- 
ney who  said  grace  at  table.     It  was  he  who 


272         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

carved  the  turkey  too.  For  it  was  a  feast, 
and  we  ate  one  of  the  turkeys  which  usually 
are  kept  for  market.  But  nothing  is  too  good 
for  Jim,  home  from  college.  Or  for  Azalea, 
who  is  keeping  him  there. 

Yes,  turkey  we  had,  and  yams  cooked  in 
sugar  and  wild  crab  apple  jelly  and  green 
tomato  pickles  and  molasses  bread  and  biscuits 
and  gravy,  and  coffee  and  "  stickies "  for 
dessert.  To  make  stickies,  you  make  a  pie 
crust  and  roll  brown  sugar  in  it.  You  are 
always  glad  when  you  see  them  and  sorry  after 
you  have  eaten  them.  Ma  makes  the  best  ones 
in  the  South.  Oh,  yes,  we  were  very  happy. 
The  fire  leaped  in  the  old  black  fireplace, 
and  the  hounds  curled  up  before  it  and 
whined  with  joy.  Ma  was  a  dream  in  her 
blue  dress  and  white  apron  with  her  dear 
face  shining  with  goodness  and  love,  and  Pa 
McBirney  was  a  picture  with  his  whitening 
hair.  Outside  the  mountain  dreamed  and 
dreamed,  and  told  us  how  long  mountains 
lived,  and  what  a  little  while  mere  folks  had 
for  enjoying  themselves,  and  warned  us  to 
gather  up  all  the  sweetness  we  could  while  we 
have  a  chance. 


^'  RING,  HAPPY  BELLS  "         273 

So  we  did.  We  ate  and  laughed  and  were 
glad  together;  we  tidied  the  little  house  and 
then  we  sang  and  read.  But  all  the  time  I 
noticed  Mother  looking  at  me  in  a  new  way, 
and  sometimes  the  tears  would  come  to  her 
eyes,  and  it  seemed  as  if  she  never  passed  me 
without  dropping  a  hand  on  my  head  or  my 
shoulder.  And  Jim  was  tender  too.  He 
neither  teased  me  nor  preached  to  me.  He 
was  just  sweet.  As  for  Pa,  he  asked  me  if  I 
didn't  think  all  of  our  ways  were  laid  out 
for  us  by  One  Who  Knew  What  Was  Best. 
Oh,  yes,  it  surely  was  a  day  long  to  be 
remembered. 

But  it  surprised  me  a  little  when  they  urged 
me  to  start  on  my  way. 

"  You  mustn't  be  out  after  dark,  my  dear," 
said  Mother  McBirney,  patting  my  hand.  "  I 
want  to  think  of  you  as  safe  at  the  Shoals 
before  the  twilight  comes.  So  you'd  better 
be  on  your  way,  honey-girl." 

"  But  I  want  to  stay,"  I  pleaded. 

"  No,  no,"  she  laughed,  "  you  want  to  go. 
You  may  not  know  it,  but  you  do." 

So  among  them  they  got  me  into  my  things 
and  onto  my  horse.     I  miss  my  little  Paprika 


274         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

when  I  ride  these  mountain  roads,  and  some- 
times wish  I  could  buy  her  back  again.  The 
horse  I  ride  is  from  the  Carson  stables,  o-f 
course,  and  is  a  fine,  gentle  creature  which 
Mrs.  Carson  often  uses  and  which  knows 
every  inch  of  the  way. 

To  my  surprise,  Jim  insisted  on  coming 
along. 

"  But  no,"  I  said.  "What  is  the  use,  Jim? 
Stay  with  the  folks." 

"  I  need  exercise,  sister,"  he  answered,  still 
in  that  surprisingly  gentle  way.  "  You  must 
let  me  do  what  I  like  when  I  am  home  so 
seldom.     I  get  discipline  enough  at  college." 

So  off  we  went  together,  just  as  we  used 
in  the  old  days  when  we  were  boy  and  girl. 

"  Jim,"  I  said,  "  you  aren't  at  all  sorry  that 
you  chose  to  be  a  minister?" 

I  never  had  had  a  chance  to  ask  him  this, 
seriously,  and  I  was  glad  of  the  opportunity. 

"  Sis,"  he  said,  "  every  day  of  my  life  I 
am  more  and  more  thankful  that  I  decided 
to  be  one.  It  is  only  that  —  only  living  the 
best  I  can  and  giving  all  my  heart  and  life 
to  the  service  of  the  God  who  made  this  beau- 
tiful earth  and  our  wonderful  bodies  and  souls 


"  RING,  HAPPY  BELLS  "  275 

—  that  can  satisfy  me.  I  must  do  it.  I  live  in 
the  thought  of  it" 

I  looked  at  him  as  he  rode  beside  me  and 
saw  how  his  face  had  strengthened  and  beauti- 
fied, and  I  wondered  how  such  things  hap- 
pened; how  it  was  that  little  commonplace 
teasing  boys  grew  up  to  be  men  like  the  one 
beside  me. 

"  Oh,  Jim,"  I  cried,  holding  out  my  hand 
to  him,  "  I  congratulate  you  from  my  deepest 
heart.  I  feared  that  your  taking  up  of  the 
ministry  might  be  a  mood;  that  you  might 
change.  But  now  I  see  you  never  will.  You 
will  be  a  tower  of  strength,  brother  Jim,  and 
in  the  years  to  come  when  I  am  troubled 
about  life,  I  shall  come  to  you  for  help." 

"  It  is  you  who  always  have  helped  me, 
Zalie,"  he  said.  "  It  is  you  who  are  making 
it  possible  now  for  me  to  prepare  for  my 
great  work." 

I  write  you  all  this,  dear  Uncle  and  Auntie, 
to  show  you  how  sweet  he  is  and  how  inter- 
esting and  peaceful  my  life  is  here,  so  you'll 
not  be  sorry,  thinking  of  all  I  let  go  from  me. 

Well,  we  went  on  down  the  road,  looking 
at  the  purple  valley  with  the  shafts  of  smoke 


276         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

arising  straight  from  the  houses  below  and 
towering,  silver  bright,  in  the  light  of  the 
lowering  sun.  I  was  so  absorbed  with  it  all 
that  I  did  not  realize  how  rapidly  we  were 
covering  the  road,  till  suddenly  I  saw  we 
were  beside  the  house  on  the  bench. 

And  what  do  you  think?  There  was  a 
shaft  of  silvery  smoke  arising  from  that  chim- 
ney, too,  and  it  was  shot  through  with  little 
sparks  like  stars,  as  if  the  fire  it  came  from 
had  been  newly  lighted. 

"  Oh,"  I  cried,  "  the  owner  of  the  house 
has  come! " 

I  had  been  so  happy  all  day  that  I  forgot 
to  be  disagreeable,  and  though  I  had  quite 
made  up  my  mind  to  dislike  this  person 
intensely,  I  neglected  to  do  it  at  that  moment, 
for  thinking  of  how  happy  he  must  be  to 
have  come  to  his  beautiful  little  house.  I 
wondered  too  if  his  wife  was  with  him,  and 
what  she  was  like.  Then  I  remembered  that 
I  had  heard  he  was  not  married,  and  I 
thought: 

"  He  can  never  be  lonely  amid  such  beauty. 
To  look  ofif  on  a  scene  like  this  will  be  com- 
pany enough." 


It  was  Keefe  O'Connor  who  stood  there  holdmg  out 
his  hands  to  me. 


"  RING,  HAPPY  BELLS  "         277 

But  I  knew  that  wasn't  really  so.  No 
beauty,  however  great,  can  comfort  one  for  a 
lonely  hearth;  no  meal  is  delicious  for  which 
only  one  place  is  set. 

Then,  out  of  that  purplish  gloom  and  from 
the  shadow  of  the  porch  at  the  side  of  the 
house  I  heard  a  voice  saying  lazily: 

"  Won't  you  be  pleased  to  'light  and 
come  in?  " 

It  had  the  mountain  drawl  and  the  mountain 
way,  but  there  was  something  wrong  with  it, 
and  it  made  me  look  inquiringly  at  Jim.  He 
was  wearing  a  broad  grin  —  a  perfectly  won- 
derful, old-time-Jim  grin. 

"Shall  we?"  said  he. 

Curiosity  got  hold  of  me  and  flung  me  off 
that  horse  and  sent  me  right  up  to  the  stranger 
on  the  porch. 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you,"  I  said  in  a  fine 
Mallowbanks  manner,  "  and  we  shall  be 
delighted.  We  have  so  long  been  interested 
in  the  building  of  this  beautiful  little  house, 
and  we  did  not  know  its  owner  —  " 

Then  I  said  no  more. 

It  was  Keefe  O'Connor  who  stood  there 
holding  out  his  hands  to  me. 


278         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

"  I'll  put  up  the  horses,  sis,"  said  Jim  with 
a  little  funny  break  in  his  voice.  And  then 
Keefe  drew  me  into  the  lighted  room. 

You  two  have  been  such  true  lovers  for  so 
many  years,  that  I  need  tell  you  nothing  about 
what  that  moment  meant.  No,  I  need  not  tell 
you  anything  at  all. 

After  a  while  we  went  into  the  long  room 
where  the  fire  was  leaping. 

"Oh,"  I  cried,  "it  is  perfect!" 

For  the  room  completely  suited  me. 

"  It  is  bare,"  said  Keefe.  "  But  I  left  the 
furnishings  to  you." 

I  said  nothing.  I  laughed.  It  was  dififerent 
from  any  other  laugh  I  ever  had.  I  laughed 
and  laughed. 

"  What  is  so  amusing?  "  asked  Keefe  at  last. 

"  Nothing  is  amusing,"  I  said.  "  I  am  not 
amused.     I  am  happy." 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  and  then  he  laughed  too. 

By  and  by  he  asked : 

"Ought  I  to  have  waited  longer?" 

"Why  should  you?" 

"  I  shall  paint  here  half  the  year  or  more," 
he  explained.  "  Then,  when  I  must,  I  shall 
go  to  the  cities.     It  will  be  necessary.     I  must 


"  RING,  HAPPY  BELLS  "         279 

hold  my  exhibits,  visit  the  art  academies,  see 
what  other  men  are  doing  —  keep  in  touch 
with  the  world.  But  this  shall  be  my  home  — 
our  home." 

"  Shall  we  give  it  a  name?  " 

"  I  have  thought  of  hundreds  and  rejected 
them." 

"  Perhaps  Jim  can  name  it  for  us." 

We  went  to  look  for  him  and  found  him 
star-gazing.  His  teeth  were  beginning  to 
chatter  a  little,  I  am  afraid,  with  the  sharp 
chill  of  the  air. 

"  Jim,"  I  said,  giving  him  a  good  hug  and 
kiss,  "  I  didn't  think  you  would  keep  a  secret 
from  your  Zalie." 

Dear  old  Jim!  He  gave  me  such  a  squeeze 
and  let  loose  a  big,  blundering  kind  of  a  laugh, 
and  then  we  brought  him  in  and  we  all  sat 
around  the  fire  and  talked.  I  never  knew  just 
how  much  like  a  brother  he  seemed  to  me 
till  that  moment. 

We  asked  him  to  name  the  cottage  for  us, 
but  he  could  think  of  nothing,  and  then,  quite 
suddenly  it  came  to  me.  I  would  call  it 
''  Delight  Cottage  "  in  honor  of  my  own  dear 
Delight  Ravanel. 


280         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

Don't  you  agree  with  me  that  it  is  a  good 
idea? 

But  I  haven't  told  her  yet.  I  thought  I 
would  keep  it  a  secret  until  she  came  to  visit 
me,  which  will  be  in  a  few  days  now.  Keefe 
said  he  would  himself  make  the  sign  and 
place  it  at  the  gateway  —  the  same  gateway 
being  nothing  less  than  two  of  my  beloved 
tulip  trees. 

Keefe  told  me  he  had  come  down  to  finish 
some  paintings,  and  that  he  would  go  on 
living  right  there  in  the  cottage,  working  on 
certain  parts  of  the  house  himself,  such  as 
the  staining  of  the  wood,  the  making  of  fire 
screens  and  benches  for  the  chimney  side,  and 
various  other  things.  He  said  there  was  work 
enough  to  keep  him  busy  in  his  odd  moments 
for  a  year  or  two.  Mrs.  Babb  is  coming  over 
to  cook  for  him  and  to  keep  "  Delight  Cottage  " 
tidy. 

Well,  a  little  later  in  the  evening  Jim 
started  me  on  my  way  again,  only  this  time 
both  he  and  Keefe  were  my  cavaliers,  and  I 
burst  into  the  drawing-room  at  the  Shoals 
expecting  to  give  them  the  greatest  sort  of  a 
surprise,  but  I  was  vastly  disappointed.     They 


"RING,  HAPPY  BELLS"  281 

only  laughed  at  me.  They  had  known  all 
along  that  Keefe  was  building  the  house,  and 
they  had  met  him  at  the  train  and  had  taken 
him  up  to  Delight  Cottage  themselves,  I  all 
the  while  toiling  away  in  my  shop.  He 
wanted,  it  seems,  to  make  the  place  look  as 
well  as  it  could  in  its  incomplete  state  before 
I  saw  it. 

Ah,  what  a  happy,  happy  girl  I  am!  Only 
one  thing  troubles  me,  and  that  is  your  possible 
disapproval.  Keefe  is  writing  you,  I  believe. 
He  said  to  me  more  than  once: 

"  I  do  hope  your  uncle  and  aunt  are  not 
going  to  think  that  I  have  done  wrong.  I 
have  cared  more  for  your  happiness.  Azalea, 
than  for  anything  on  earth,  and  if  I  had  for 
one  moment  believed  that  you  would  have 
been  happier  if  I  had  withdrawn  myself 
entirely  from  your  life,  I  would  have  done  so 
without  regard  to  my  lifelong  loneliness.  But 
when  I  heard  that  you  had  resigned  your 
inheritance  and  come  back  here,  I  was  forced 
to  conclude  that  it  was  a  sign  and  token 
to  me." 

"  It  was,"  I  confessed.     "  Just  that." 

Well,  my  dear  kinfolk,  Christmas  came  with 


282         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

all  its  pleasures,  and  it  brought  me  your  beau- 
tiful gift,  also  my  ring  from  Keefe,  and  lovely 
things  from  the  Carsons  and  from  many  other 
friends.  Even  there  were  many  remembrances 
from  my  mountain  people. 

There  was  one  gift  —  or  token,  rather  — 
which  filled  me  with  the  greatest  surprise. 
It  was  a  copy  of  Delight  Ravanel's  will, 
bequeathing  to  me  all  of  her  possessions  when 
the  day  comes  that  she  must  go  into  the  Other 
Land.  Oh,  I  hope  it  will  be  many,  many 
years  till  then! 

Try  to  fancy  my  amazement.  Truly,  I 
never  was  more  surprised  in  my  life,  although, 
as  you  know,  I  have  had  a  good  many  surprises 
for  a  person  of  my  age. 

Moreover,  she  is  coming  to  see  me  next 
week,  and  in  preparation  for  her  visit  I  have 
had  Mrs.  Kitchell's  old  living  rooms  fitted 
up  all  fresh  for  us.  There  is  a  little  sitting 
room,  and  a  kitchen  and  two  bedrooms.  With 
the  help  of  my  always  kind  Mrs.  Carson,  the 
place  has  been  made  —  or  is  being  made  —  as 
cosy  and  dainty  as  you  can  imagine.  Mrs. 
Wixon  will  help  me  keep  house,  and  I  shall 
be  quite  independent  and   settled.     Of  course 


"  RING,  HAPPY  BELLS  "  283 

Mrs.  Carson  and  Carin  beg  me  to  stay  with 
them,  but  I  feel  I  have  been  their  guest  quite 
long  enough.  Now  —  only  fancy — I  shall  be 
able  to  entertain  them  at  times,  and  to  return 
in  some  small  measure  the  endless  hospitality 
they  have  shown  me.  I  think  Cousin  Delight 
will  love  this  little  experiment  in  housekeep- 
ing, and  I  wouldn't  be  the  least  surprised  to 
see  her  taking  an  interest  in  the  weaving  and 
basket-making  and  in  the  little  shop.  It  would 
be  the  best  thing  in  the  world  for  her  if  she 
would,  for  life  certainly  is  pretty  drowsy  at 
Monrepos,  where  she  has  lived  so  long  alone, 
remembering  and  brooding  and  doing  her 
little  solitary  tasks.  If  I  have  my  way  she 
shall  stay  with  me  or  near  me  altogether. 

So  you  see  into  what  a  shining  and  rapid 
current  my  little  life  has  been  swung.  And 
you  will  forgive  me  for  everything  I  did 
not  do  and  for  everything  I  am  doing.  I 
insist  on  being  forgiven  —  and  loved.  You 
must  love  me  when  I  love  you  so  much. 

When  I  am  married  you  must  be  my  first 
guests.  Until  you  come,  I  shall  have  no  one. 
I  would  never  be  satisfied  if  you  did  not  dedi- 
cate my  house  for  me  by  your  presence. 


284         AZALEA'S  SILVER  WEB 

The  wedding  day  is  not  yet  set  exactly.  It 
will  be  in  the  early  summer,  after  Keefe  has 
finished  some  orders  he  has,  and  so  is  feeling 
quite  rich,  and  after  I  have  really  got  the 
Mountain  Industries  in  such  a  condition  that 
I  can  safely  pass  them  on  to  others.  Even 
after  I  am  married  I  shall  keep  an  overseeing 
eye  on  them,  and  Mrs.  Carson  and  Carin  will 
help  me.  Then,  of  course,  there  is  my  trous- 
seau to  make.  I  am  so  glad  you  let  me  have 
dear  little  madam  grandmother's  chests.  I 
think  I  can  make  over  her  wedding  dress  so 
that  I  can  wear  it,  and  of  course  I  shall  wear 
her  veil. 

If  you  will  send  on  the  portrait  that  she  had 
painted  for  me,  I  can  hang  it  above  my  new 
piano  in  my  little  sitting  room.  Or  shall  I 
hang  it  above  my  fireplace?  I  must  try  and 
see  in  which  place  it  looks  the  best. 

My  heart  is  singing  with  joy,  and  I  send 
you  a  thousand  little  carefully  wrapped  pack- 
ages of  love.  Undo  them  one  by  one  and 
think  of 

Azalea 


w^ 


(I 


